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> /T ' 








WILLIAM J. PELO, A.M. (Harv.) 








For the use of copyrighted material grateful acknowledgment 
is made to: D. Appleton & Company for "Song of Marion's 
Men," by William Cullen Bryant; Archbishop John Ireland for 
" Duty and Value of Patriotism "; Little, Brown & Company for 
"The Man without a Country," by Edward Everett Hale; 
Horace Traubel for "0 Captain! My Captain!," by Walt 
Whitman; Houghton, Mifflin Company for " Barbara Frietchie," 
by John Greenleaf Whittier, " Ready," by Phoebe Cary, " Old 
Ironsides," by Oliver Wendell Holmes, and "Paul Revere's 
Ride," by Henry W. Longfellow; Harper & Brothers for "The 
Ride of Jennie M'Neal," by Will Carleton; Rudyard Kipling 
and Doubleday Page & Co., for "The Recessional"; Henry 
van Dyke for "The Foot-path to Peace," from "The Friendly 
Year," copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons; Henry Watter- 
son for "Oration on Lincoln"; Henry H. Bennett for "The 
Flag Goes By"; Franklin K. Lane for "Makers of the Flag"; 
Harr Wagner Publishing Company, publishers of Joaquin Miller's 
Complete Works, for "Columbus"; John Haynes Holmes for 
"America Triumphant"; Fleming H. Revell Co. for selection 
from E. A. Steiner's " From Alien to Citizen." 



Dear Mr. Pelo: 

I hope the children who use your Patriotic Reader 
will ask themselves what patriotism really means. 
There is much vague talk about patriotism; and 
gregarious sentiment on the subject can be easily 
perverted to wrong uses. Therefore every child 
should somehow get a clear idea of what love of 
country implies in the patriot's soul and should 
lead to in the patriot's conduct. 

The love of country is a compound of many ele- 
ments; but it is always a combination of loves of the 
places and scenes among which we grew up, of the 
father, mother, brothers, and sisters with whom our 
infancy was passed, of the sky and the weather at 
the home of our youth, and of the natural and artifi- 
cial environments of our plays and our labors. 

A wandering life, with no stability of home or of 

employment, is unfavorable to the development of 

the warmest love of country; but warm and eager 

love of country may be felt by persons living under 

different forms of government and social organization. 

Poor and uneducated people feel it quite as strongly 

as the well-to-do and the educated, though they may 

not be so conscious of the feeling and of its effects on 

themselves. The subjects of a king or an emperor may 




-/ / 

-» r 




Columbus Joaquin Miller 91 

The Boy Columbus Anonymous 92 

Independence Day 94 

Independence Bell Anonymous 95 

Declaration of Independence Thomas Jefferson 98 

Memorial Day William McKinley .... 103 

Memorial Day James A, Garfield 104 

The Blue and the Gray Francis M . Finch 105 


My Land Thomas Osborne Davis. 106 

The Ride of Jennie M 'Neal Will Carleton 107 

The Rising in 1776 Thomas Buchanan Read 113 

Paul Revere's Ride H. W. Longfellow 117 

Song of Marion's Men William Cullen Bryant 121 

Mollie Pitcher Kate Brownlee Sherwood 123 

Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes. . 126 

Barbara Frietchie John G. Whittier 127 

Ready Phoebe Gary 130 

The Song of Manila Stuart Sterne 131 


The Star-spangled Banner 133 

America Samuel Francis Smith . 133 

The Battle Hymn of the Republic. . Julia Ward Howe 135 

Hail, Columbia Joseph Hophinson 136 

Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean. . . David Shaw 139 

Dixie 140 

American Hymn Matthias Keller 141 

WAR PROCLAMATION Woodrow Wilson 142 


Recessional Rudyard Kipling 155 

Advice to the Immigrant Edward A. Steiner 156 

America Trumphant John Haynes Holmes 157 

The Land of My Birth Eliza Cook 159 

God Give us Men JG. Holland 159 

The Foot-path to Peace Henry van Dyke 160 


I BELIEVE in the United States of America as a 
government of the people, by the people, for the 
people; whose just powers are derived from the 
consent of the governed ; a democracy in a republic ; 
a sovereign nation of many sovereign states ; a per- 
fect union, one and inseparable; established upon 
those principles of freedom, equality, justice, and hu- 
manity for which American patriots sacrificed their 
lives and fortunes. 

I therefore believe it is my duty to my country 
to love it; to support its constitution; to obey its 
laws; to respect its flag; and to defend it against 

all enemies. 

— William Tyler Page 





Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

"This is my own, my native land ,, ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

— Waweb Scott, "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" 



I suppose that very few casual readers of the New 
York Herald of August 13, 1863, observed, in an ob- 
scure corner, among the "Deaths," the announce- 
ment, — 

"Nolan. Died, on board U. S. Corvette Levant, Lat. 2° 
11' S., Long. 131'° W., on the 11th of May, Philip Nolan." 

There are hundreds of readers who would have 
paused at that announcement, if the officer of the 
Levant who reported it had chosen to make it thus: 
"Died, May 11, The Man without a Country." 
For it was as "The Man without a Country" that 
poor Philip Nolan had generally been known by the 
officers who had him in charge during some fifty years, 
as, indeed, by all the men who sailed under them. 
I dare say there is many a man who has taken wine 
with him once a fortnight, in a three years' cruise, 
who never knew that his name was "Nolan," or whether 
the poor wretch had any name at all. 

Now that he is dead, it seems to me worth while 
to tell a little of his story, by way of showing young 
Americans of to-day what it is to be a man without 
a country. 

Philip Nolan was as fine a young officer as there 
was in the "Legion of the West," as the Western 
division of our army was then called. When Aaron 
Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New 


Orleans in 1805, at Fort Massac, or somewhere above 
on the river, he met this gay, dashing, bright young 
fellow, at some dinner-party, I think. Burr marked 
him, talked to him, walked with him, took him a day 
or two's voyage in his flatboat, and, in short, fasci- 
nated him. For the next year, barrack-life was very 
tame to poor Nolan. He occasionally availed himself 
of the permission the great man had given him to 
write to him. Long, high-worded, stilted letters the 
poor boy wrote and rewrote and copied. But never 
a line did he have in reply from the gay deceiver. 
The other boys in the garrison sneered at him, because 
he lost the fun which they found in shooting or rowing 
while he was working away on these grand letters to 
his grand friend. But before long the young fellow 
had his revenge. For this time His Excellency, 
Honorable Aaron Burr, appeared again under a very 
different aspect. There were rumors that he had an 
army behind him and everybody supposed that he 
had an empire before him. At that time the young- 
sters all envied him. Burr had not been talking twenty 
minutes with the commander before he asked him to 
send for Lieutenant Nolan. Then after a little talk 
he asked Nolan if he could show him something of the 
great river and the plans for the new post. He asked 
Nolan to take him out in his skiff to show him a cane- 
brake or a cotton-wood tree, as he said, — really to 
seduce him; and by the time the sail was over, Nolan 
was enlisted body and soul. From that time, though 
he did not yet know it, he lived as a man without 


What Burr meant to do I know no more than you, 


dear reader. It is none of our business just now. 
Only, when the grand catastrophe came, and Jefferson 
and the House of Virginia of that day undertook to 
break on the wheel all the possible Clarences of the 
then House of York, by the great treason trial at Rich- 
mond, some of the lesser fry in that distant Mississippi 
Valley, which was farther from us than Puget's Sound 
is to-day, introduced the like novelty on their pro- 
vincial stage; and, to while away the monotony of 
the summer at Fort Adams, got up, for spectacles, a 
string of court-martials on the officers there. One 
and another of the colonels and majors were tried, and, 
to fill out the list, little Nolan, against whom, Heaven 
knows, there was evidence enough, — that he was sick 
of the service, had been willing to be false to it, and 
would have obeyed any order to march anywhither 
with anyone who would follow him had the order been 
signed, "By command of His Exc. A. Burr. ,, The 
courts dragged on. The big flies escaped, — rightly 
for all I know. Nolan was proved guilty enough, 
as I say; yet you and I would never have heard of 
him, reader, but that, when the president of the court 
asked him at the close whether he wished to say any- 
thing to show that he had always been faithful to the 
United States, he, in a fit of frenzy, cursed his country 
and cried out, "I wish I may never hear of the United 
States again !" 

I suppose he did not know how the words shocked 
old Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court. 
Half the officers who sat in it had served through the 
Revolution, and their lives, not to say their necks, 
had been risked for the very idea which he so cava- 


lierly cursed in his madness. He, on his part, had 
grown up in the West of those days. He had been 
educated on a plantation where the finest company 
was a Spanish officer or a French merchant from 
Orleans. His education, such as it was, had been 
perfected in commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, 
and I think he told me his father once hired an English- 
man to be a private tutor for a winter on the plantation. 
He had spent half his youth with an older brother, 
hunting horses in Texas; and, in a word, to him 
" United States' ' was scarcely a reality. Yet he had 
been fed by " United States" for all the years since he 
had been in the army. He had sworn on his faith as 
a Christian to be true to " United States." It was 
" United States" which gave him the uniform he wore, 
and the sword by his side. Nay, my poor Nolan, it 
was only because " United States" had picked you out 
first as one of her own confidential men of honor that 
"A. Burr" cared for you a straw more than for the 
flatboat men who sailed his ark for him. I do not 
excuse Nolan; I only explain to the reader why he 
cursed his country, and wished he might never hear 
her name again. 

He never did hear her name but once again. From 
that moment, September 23, 1807, till the day he died, 
May 11, 1863, he never heard her name again. For 
that half century and more he was a man without a 

Old Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked. If 
Nolan had compared George Washington to Benedict 
Arnold, or had cried, "God save King George," Mor- 
gan would not have felt worse. He called the court 


into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, 
with a face like a sheet, to say, — 

"Prisoner, hear the sentence of the Court! The 
Court decides, subject to the approval of the President, 
that you never hear the name of the United States 

Nolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. Old 
Morgan was too solemn, and the whole room was 
hushed dead as night for a minute. Even Nolan lost 
his swagger in a moment. Then Morgan added, — 

"Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an 
armed boat, and deliver him to the naval commander 

The marshal gave his orders and the prisoner was 
taken out of court. 

"Mr. Marshal," continued old Morgan, "see that 
no one mentions the United States to the prisoner. 
Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell 
at Orleans, and request him to order that no one shall 
mention the United States to the prisoner while he is 
on board ship. You will receive your written orders 
from the officer on duty here this evening. The 
Court is adjourned without day." 

I have always supposed that Colonel Morgan him- 
self took the proceedings of the court to Washington 
city, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson. Certain 
it is that the President approved them, — certain, 
that is, if I may believe the men who say they have 
seen his signature. Before the Nautilus got round 
from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with 
the prisoner on board, the sentence had been approved, 
and he was a man without a country. 


The plan then adopted was substantially the same 
which was necessarily followed ever after. Perhaps 
it was suggested by the necessity of sending him by 
water from Fort Adams and Orleans. The Secretary 
of the Navy, — it must have been the first Crownin- 
shield, though he is a man I do not remember, — was 
requested to put Nolan on board a government vessel 
bound on a long cruise, and to direct that he should 
be only so far confined there as to make it certain that 
he never saw or heard of the country. The com- 
mander to whom he was intrusted regulated the 
etiquette and the precautions of the affair, and accord- 
ing to his scheme they were carried out, I suppose, 
till Nolan died. 

When I was second officer of the Intrepid some thirty 
years after, I saw the original paper of instructions. 
I have been sorry ever since that I did not copy the 
whole of it. It ran, however, much in this way: 

Washington (with a date, which 
must have been late in 1807). 

Sir, — You will receive from Lieutenant Neale the per- 
son of Philip Nolan, late a lieutenant in the United States 

This person on his trial by court-martial expressed, with 
an oath, the wish that he might "never hear of the United 
States again." 

The Court sentenced him to have his wish fulfilled. 

For the present, the execution of the order is intrusted 
by the President to .this Department. 

You will take the prisoner on board your ship, and keep 
him there with such precautions as shall prevent his escape. 

You will provide him with such quarters, rations, and 
clothing as would be proper for an officer of his late rank, 


if he were a passenger on your vessel on the business of his 

The gentlemen on board will make any arrangements 
agreeable to themselves regarding his society. He is to be 
exposed to no indignity of any kind, nor is he ever unneces- 
sarily to be reminded that he is a prisoner 

But under no circumstances is he ever to hear of his 
country or to see any information regarding it; and you will 
especially caution all the officers under your command to 
take care, that, in the various indulgences which may be 
granted, this rule, in which his punishment is involved, 
shall not be broken. 

It is the intention of the Government that he shall never 
again see the country which he has disowned. Before the 
end of your cruise you will receive orders which will give 
effect to this intention. 

Respectfully yours, 

W. Southard, for the 
Secretary of the Navy. 

If I had only preserved the whole of this paper, 
there would be no break in the beginning of my sketch 
of this story. For Captain Shaw, if it were he, handed 
it to his successor in the charge, and he to his, and I 
suppose the commander of the Levant has it to-day 
as his authority for keeping this man in this mild 

The rule adopted on board the ships on which I have 
met "the man without a country' ' was, I think, 
transmitted from the beginning. No mess liked to 
have him permanently, because his presence cut off 
all talk of home or of the prospect of return, of politics 
or letters, of peace or of war, — cut off more than half 
the talk men liked to have at sea. But it was always 



thought too hard that he should never meet the rest 
of us, except to touch hats, and we finally sank into 
one system. He was not permitted to talk with the 
men, unless an officer was by. With officers he had 
unrestrained intercourse, as far as they and he chose. 
But he grew shy, though he had favorites: I was one. 
Then the captain always asked him to dinner on Mon- 
day. Every mess in succession took up the invitation 
in its turn. According to the size of the ship, you had 
him at your mess more or less often at dinner. His 
breakfast he ate in his own stateroom, — he always 
had a stateroom, — which was where a sentinel or 
somebody on the watch could see the door. And 
whatever else he ate or drank, he ate or drank alone. 
Sometimes, when the marines or sailors had any 
special jollification, they were permitted to invite 
" Plain-Buttons/ ' as they called him. Then Nolan 
was sent with some officer, and the men were forbidden 
to speak of home while he was there. I believe the 
theory was that the sight of his punishment did them 
good. They called him " Plain-Buttons/ ' because, 
while he always chose to wear a regulation army- 
uniform, he was not permitted to wear the army- 
button, for the reason that it bore either the initials 
or the insignia of the country he had disowned. 

I remember, soon after I joined the navy, I was on 
shore with some of the older officers from our ship 
and from the Brandywine, which we had met at Alex- 
andria. We had leave to make a party and go up to 
Cairo and the Pyramids. As we jogged along (you 
went on donkeys then), some of the gentlemen (we 
boys called them "Dons," but the phrase was long 



since changed) fell to talking about Nolan, and some 
one told the system which was adopted from the- first 
about his books and other reading. As he was almost 
never permitted to go on shore, even though the 
vessel lay in port for months, his time at the best 
hung heavy; and everybody was permitted to lend him 
books, if they were not published in America and 
made no allusion to it. These were common enough 
in the old days, when people in the other hemisphere 
talked of the United States as little as we do of Parar- 
guay. He had almost all the foreign papers that came 
into the ship, sooner or later; only somebody must go 
over them first, and cut out any advertisement or 
stray paragraph that alluded to America. This was 
a little cruel sometimes, when the back of what was 
cut out might be as innocent as Hesiod. Right in the 
midst of one of Napoleon's battles, or one of Canning's 
speeches, poor Nolan would find a great hole, because 
on the back of the page of that paper there had been 
an advertisement of a packet for New York, or a 
scrap from the President's message. I say this was 
the first time I ever heard of this plan, which after- 
wards I had enough and more than enough to do with. 
I remember it, because poor Phillips, who was of the 
party, as soon as the allusion to reading was made, 
told a story of something which happened at the 
Cape of Good Hope on Nolan's first voyage; and it is 
the only thing I ever knew of that voyage. They 
had touched at the Cape, and had done the civil thing 
with the English Admiral and the fleet, and then, 
leaving for a long cruise up the Indian Ocean, Phillips 
had borrowed a lot of English books from an officer, 


which, in those days, as indeed in these, was quite a 
windfall. Among them was "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel," which they had all of them heard of, but 
which most of them had never seen. I think it could 
not have been published long. Well, nobody thought 
there could be any risk of anything national in that, 
though Phillips swore old Shaw had cut out "The 
Tempest" from Shakespeare before he let Nolan have 
it, because he said "the Bermudas ought to be ours, 
and, by Jove, should be one day." So Nolan was 
permitted to join the circle one afternoon when a lot 
of them sat on deck smoking and reading aloud. 
People do not do such things so often now; but when 
I was young we got rid of a great deal of time so. 
Well, it so happened that in his turn Nolan took the 
book and read to the others; and he read very well, 
as I know. Nobody in the circle knew a line of the 
poem, only it was all magic and Border chivalry, 
and was ten thousand years ago. Poor Nolan read 
steadily through the fifth canto, stopped a minute 
and drank something, and then began, without a 
thought of what was coming, — 

"Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said," — 

It seems impossible to us that anybody ever heard 
this for the first time; but all these fellows did then, 
and poor Nolan himself went on, still unconsciously 
or mechanically, — 

"'This is my own, my native land 7 ?" 

Then they all saw that something was to pay; 
but he expected to get through, I suppose, turned a 
little pale, but plunged on, — 


"Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand? — 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; " — 

By this time the men were all beside themselves, 
wishing there was any way to make him turn over 
two pages; but he had not quite presence of mind for 
that; he gagged a little, colored crimson, and stag- 
gered on, — 

"For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his* wealth as wish can claim, 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self," — 

and here the poor fellow choked, could not go on, 
but started up, swung the book into the sea, vanished 
into his stateroom, "And by Jove," said Phillips, "we 
did not see him for two months again. And I had to 
make up some beggarly story to that .English surgeon 
why I did not return his Walter Scott to him." 

That story shows about the time when Nolan's 
braggadocio must have broken down. At first, they 
said, he took a very high tone, considered his imprison- 
ment a mere farce, affected to enjoy the voyage, and 
all that ; but Phillips said that after he came out of his 
stateroom he never was the same man again. He 
never read aloud again, unless it was the Bible or 
Shakespeare, or something else he was sure of. But 
it was not that merely. He never entered in with the 
other young men exactly as a companion again. He 
was always shy afterwards, when I knew him, — 
very seldom spoke, unless he was spoken to, except 
to a very few friends. He lighted up occasionally, — 


but generally he had the nervous, tired look of a 
heart-wounded man. 

When Captain Shaw was coming home, — if , as I 
say, it was Shaw, — rather to the surprise of every- 
body they made one of the Windward Islands, and lay 
off and on for nearly a week. The boys said the 
officers were sick of salt-junk, and meant to have 
turtle-soup before they came home. But after several 
days the Warren came to the same rendezvous; they 
exchanged signals; she sent to Phillips and these 
homeward-bound men letters and papers, and told 
them she was outward-bound, perhaps to the Medi- 
terranean, and took' poor Nolan and his traps on the 
boat back to try his second cruise. He looked very 
blank when he was told to get ready to join her. He 
had known enough of the signs of the sky to know that 
till that moment he was going "home." But this was 
a distinct evidence of something he had not thought 
of, perhaps, — that there was no going home for him, 
even to a prison. And this was the first of some twenty 
such transfers, which brought him sooner or later into 
half our best vessels, but which kept him all his life 
at least some hundred miles from the country he had 
hoped he might never hear of again. 

It may have been on that second cruise, — it was 
once when he was up the Mediterranean, — that Mrs. 
Graff, the celebrated Southern beauty of those days, 
danced with him. They had been lying a long time 
in the Bay of Naples, and the officers were very inti- 
mate in the English fleet, and there had been great 
festivities, and our men thought they must give a 
great ball on board the ship. How they ever did it 


on board the Warren I am sure I do not know. Per- 
haps it was not the Warren, or perhaps ladies did not 
take up so much room as they do now. They wanted 
to use Nolan's stateroom for something, and they 
hated to do it without asking him to the ball; so the 
captain said they might ask him, if they would be 
responsible that he did not talk with the wrong people, 
"who would give him intelligence." So the dance 
went on, the finest party that had ever been known, 
I dare say; for I never heard of a man-of-war ball 
that was not. For ladies they had the family of the 
American consul, one or two travelers who had ad- 
ventured so far, and a nice bevy of English girls and 
matrons, perhaps Lady Hamilton herself. 

Well, different officers relieved each other in stand- 
ing and talking with Nolan in a friendly way, so as to be 
sure that nobody else spoke to him. 

As the dancing went on, Nolan and our fellows all 
got at ease, — so much so, that it seemed quite natural 
for him to bow to that splendid Mrs. Graff , and say, — 

"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. 
Shall I have the honor of dancing?" 

He did it so quickly, that Fellows, who was with him, 
could not hinder him. She laughed and said, — 

"I am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; 
but I will dance all the same," just nodded to Fel- 
lows, as if to say he must leave Mr. Nolan to her, and 
led him off to the place where the dance was forming. 

Nolan thought he had got his chance. He had 
known her at Philadelphia, and at other places had 
met her, and this was a Godsend. He began to talk 
of her travels, and Europe, and Vesuvius, and the 


French ; and then, he said boldly, — a little pale, she 
said, as she told me the story years after, — 

"And what do you hear from home, Mrs. Graff?" 

And that splendid creature looked through him. 
Jove! how she must have looked through him! 

"Home! ! Mr. Nolan! ! ! I thought you were the 
man who never wanted to hear of home again!" — 
and she walked directly up the deck to her husband, 
and left poor Nolan alone, as he always was. — He 
did not dance again. I cannot give any history of 
him in order; nobody can now; and, indeed, I am not 
trying to. 

A happier story than either of these I have told is 
of the war. That came along soon after. I have 
heard this affair told in three or four ways, — and, 
indeed, it may have happened more than once. But 
which ship it was on I cannot tell. However, in one, 
at least, of the great frigate duels with the English, 
in which the navy was really baptized, it happened 
that a round-shot from the enemy entered one of our 
ports square, and took right down the officer of the 
gun himself, and almost every man of the gun's crew. 
Now you may say what you choose about courage, 
but that is not a nice thing to see. But, as the men who 
were not killed picked themselves up, and as they and 
the surgeon's people were carrying off the bodies, 
there appeared Nolan, in his shirt-sleeves, with the 
rammer in his hand, and, just as if he had been the 
officer, told them off with authority, — who should go 
to the cock-pit with the wounded men, who should 
stay with him, — perfectly cheery, and with that way 
which makes men feel sure all is right and is going to 


If^T • 

"She walked away and left Nolan alone." 


be right. And he finished loading the gun with his 
own hands, aimed it, and bade the men fire. And 
there he stayed, captain of that gun, keeping those 
fellows in spirits, till the enemy struck, — sitting on 
the carriage while the gun was cooling, though he was 
exposed all the time, — showing them easier ways to 
handle heavy shot, — making the raw hands laugh 
at their own blunders, — and when the gun cooled 
again, getting it loaded and fired twice as often as any 
other gun on the ship. The captain walked forward 
by way of encouraging the men, and Nolan touched 
his hat and said, — 

"I am showing them how we do this in the artillery, 

And this is the part of the story where all the legends 
agree; the commodore said: — 

"I see you are, and I thank you, sir; and I shall 
never forget this day, sir, and you never shall, sir." 

And after the whole thing was over, and he had the 
Englishman's sword, in the midst of the state and 
ceremony of the quarter-deck, he said: — 

" Where is Mr. Nolan? Ask Mr. Nolan to come 
here. ,, 

And when Nolan came, he said: — 

"Mr. Nolan, we are all very grateful to you to-day; 
you are one of us to-day; you will be named in the 
despatches/ ' 

And then the old man took off his own sword of 
ceremony, and gave it to Nolan, and made him put 
it on. The man told me this who saw it. Nolan 
cried like a baby, and well he might. He had not 
worn a sword since that infernal day at Fort Adams. 


But always afterwards on occasions of ceremony, he 
wore that quaint old French sword of the commodore's. 

The captain did mention him in the despatches. 
It was always said he asked that he might be pardoned. 
He wrote a special letter to the Secretary of War. 
But nothing ever came of it. As I said, that was about 
the time when they began to ignore the whole trans- 
action at Washington, and when Nolan's imprisonment 
began to carry itself on because there was nobody 
to stop it without any new orders from home. 

I have heard it said that he was with Porter when 
he took possession of the Nukahiva Islands. Not 
this Porter, you know, but old Porter, his father, 
Efcsex Porter, — that is, the old Essex Porter, not this 
Essex. As an artillery officer, who had seen service 
in the West, Nolan knew more about fortifications, 
embrasures, ravelins, stockades, and all that, than 
any of them did; and he worked with a right good- 
will in fixing that battery all right. I have always 
thought it was a pity Porter did not leave him in com- 
mand there with Gamble. That would have settled 
all the question about his punishment. We should 
have kept the islands, and at this moment we should 
have one station in the Pacific Ocean. Our French 
friends, too, when they wanted this little watering- 
place, would have found it was preoccupied. But 
Madison and the Virginians, of course, flung all that 

All that was near fifty years ago. If Nolan was 
thirty then, he must have been near eighty when he 
died. He looked sixty when he was forty. But he 
never seemed to me to change a hair afterwards. 


As I imagine his life, from what I have seen and heard 
of it, he must have been in every sea, and yet almost 
never on land. He must have known, in a formal 
way, more officers in our service than any man living 
knows. He told me once, with a grave smile, that no 
man in the world lived so methodical a life as he. 
"You know the boys say I am the Iron Mask, and 
you know how busy he was." He said it did not do 
for any one to try to read all the time, more than to 
do anything else all the time; and that he used to 
read just five hours a day. "Then," he said, "I keep 
up my notebooks, writing in them at such and such 
hours from what I have been reading; and I include 
in these my scrapbooks." Thesa were very curious 
indeed. He had six or eight, of different subjects. 
There was one of History, one of Natural Science, 
one which he called "Odds and Ends." But they 
were not merely books of extracts from newspapers. 
They had bits of plants and ribbons, shells tied on, and 
carved scraps of bone and wood, which he had taught 
the men to cut for him, and they were beautifully 
illustrated. He drew admirably. He had some of 
the funniest drawings there, and some of the most 
pathetic, that I have ever seen in my life. I wonder 
who will have Nolan's scrapbooks. 

Well, he said his reading and his notes were his 
profession, and that they took five hours and two hours 
respectively of each day. "Then," said he, "every 
man should have a diversion as well as a profession. 
My Natural History is my diversion." That took 
two hours a day more. The men used to bring him 
birds and fish, but on a long cruise he had to satisfy 


himself with centipedes and cockroaches and such 
small game. He was the only naturalist I ever met 
who knew anything about the habits of the house-fly 
and the mosquito. These nine hours made Nolan's 
regular daily " occupation/ ' The rest of the time he 
talked or walked. Till he grew very old, he went 
aloft a great deal. He always kept up his exercise; 
and I never heard that he was ill. If any other 
man was ill, he was the kindest nurse in the world; 
and he knew more than half the surgeons do. Then 
if anybody was sick or died, or if the captain wanted 
him to, on any other occasion, he was always ready 
to read prayers. I have said that he read * beauti- 

My own acquaintance with Philip Nolan began 
six or eight years after the English war, on my first 
voyage after I was appointed a midshipman. It was 
in the first days after our slave-trade treaty, while the 
reigning house, which was still the House of Virginia, 
had still a sort of sentimentalism about the suppres- 
sion of the horrors of the Middle Passage, and some- 
thing was sometimes done that way. We were in the 
South Atlantic on that business. From the time I joined, 
I believe I thought Nolan was a sort of lay chaplain, 
— a chaplain with a blue coat. I never asked about 
him. Everything in the ship was strange to me. 
I knew it was green to ask questions, and I suppose 
I thought there was a "Plain-Buttons" on every 
ship. We had him to dine in our mess once a week, 
and the caution was given that on that day nothing 
was to be said about home. But if they had told us 
not to say anything about the planet Mars or the Book 



of Deuteronomy, I should not have asked why; there 
were a great many things which seemed to me to 
have as little reason. I first came to understand any- 
thing about "the man without a country " one day 
when we overhauled a dirty little schooner which had 
slaves on board. An officer was sent to take charge 
of her, and, after a few minutes, he sent back his boat 
to ask that some one might be sent him who could speak 
Portuguese. We> were all looking over the rail when 
the message came, and we all wished we could inter- 
pret, when the captain asked who spoke Portuguese. 
But none of the officers did; and just as the captain 
was sending forward to ask if any of the people could, 
Nolan stepped out and said he should be glad to inter- 
pret, if the captain wished, as he understood the 
language. The captain thanked him, fitted out another 
boat with him, and in this boat it was my luck to go. 

When we got there, it was such a scene as you 
seldom see, and never want to. There were not a 
great many of the negroes; but by way of making 
what there were understand that they were free, 
Vaughan had had their handcuffs and anklecuffs 
knocked off, and, for convenience' sake, was put- 
ting them upon the rascals of the schooner's crew. 
The negroes were, most of them, out of the hold, 
and swarming all round the dirty deck, with a cen- 
tral throng surrounding Vaughan and addressing him 
in every dialect. 

As we came on deck, Vaughan looked down from 
a hogshead, on which he had mounted in desperation, 
and said : — 

"For God's love, is there anybody who can make 


these wretches understand something? The men gave 
them rum, and that did not quiet them. I knocked 
that big fellow down twice, and that did not soothe 
him. And then I talked Choctaw to all of them 
together; and I'll be hanged if they understood that 
as well as they understood the English." 

Nolan said he could speak Portuguese, and one or 
two fine-looking Krumen were dragged out, who, as 
it had been found already, had worked for the Portu- 
guese on the coast at Fernando Po. 

"Tell them they are free," said Vaughan. 

Nolan "put that into Spanish," — that is, he 
explained it in such Portuguese as the Krumen could 
understand, and they in turn to such of the negroes 
as could understand them. Then there was a yell of 
delight, clinching of fists, leaping and dancing, kissing 
of Nolan's feet, and a general rush made to the hogs- 
head by way of spontaneous worship of Vaughan. 

"Tell them," said Vaughan, well pleased, "that I 
will take them all to Cape Palmas." 

This did not answer so well. Cape Palmas was 
practically as far from the homes of most of them as 
New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, they would 
be eternally separated from home there. And their 
interpreters, as we could understand, instantly said, 
"Ah, non Palmos" and began to propose infinite 
other expedients in most voluble language. Vaughan 
was rather disappointed at this result of his liberality, 
and asked Nolan eagerly what they said. The drops 
stood on poor Nolan's white forehead, as he hushed 
the men down, and said : — 

"He says, 'Not Palmas.' He says, 'Take us home, 


take us to our own country, take us to our own house, 
take us to our own pickaninnies and our own women.' 
He says he has an old father and mother who will die 
if they do not see him. And this one says he left his 
people all sick, and paddled down to Fernando to 
beg the white doctor to come and help them, and that 
these devils caught him in the bay just in sight of 
home, and that he has never seen anybody from home 
since then. And this one says," choked out Nolan, 
"that he has not heard a word from his home in six 

Even the negroes themselves stopped howling, 
as they saw Nolan's agony, and Vaughan's almost 
equal agony of sympathy. As quick as he could get 
words, he said : — 

"T6ll them yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go 
to the Mountains of the Moon, if they will. If I 
sail the schooner through the Great White Desert, 
they shall go home!" 

And after some fashion Nolan said so. And then 
they all fell to kissing him again, and wanted to rub 
his nose with theirs. 

But he could not stand it long ; and getting Vaughan 
to say he might go back, he beckoned me down into our 
boat. As we lay back in the stern-sheets and the men 
ga,ve way, he said to me: "Youngster, let that show 
you what it is to be without a family, without a home, 
and without a country. And if you are ever tempted 
to say a word or to do a thing that shall put a bar 
between you and your family, your home, and your 
country, pray God in His mercy to take you that 
instant home to His own heaven. Stick by your 


family, boy; forget you have a self, while you do 
everything for them. Think of your home, boy; 
write and send, and talk about it. Let it be nearer 
and nearer to your thought, the farther you have to 
travel from it; and rush back to it when you are free, 
as that poor black slave is doing now. And for your 
country, boy/' and the words rattled in his throat, 
"and for that flag," and he pointed to the ship, "never 
dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, 
though the service carry you through a thousand 
hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter 
who flatters you or who abuses you, never look at 
another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God 
to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind all 
these men you have to do with, behind officers, and 
government, and people even, there is the Country 
Herself, your Country, and that you belong to Her as 
you belong to your own mother. Stand by H$r, 
boy, as you would stand by your mother, if those 
devils there had got hold of her to-day!" 

I was frightened to death by his calm, hard passion; 
but I blundered out that I would, by all that was holy, 
and that I had never thought of doing anything else. 
He hardly seemed to hear me; but he did, almost 
in a whisper, say: "0, if anybody had said so to me 
when I was of your age!" 

I think it was this half-confidence of his, which I 
never abused, for I never told this story till now, 
which afterward made us great friends. He was very 
kind to me. Often he sat up, or even got up, at night, 
to walk the deck with me, wh^n it was my watch. 
He explained to me a great deal of my mathematics, 


and I owe to him my taste for mathematics. He lent 
me books, and helped me about my reading. He never 
alluded so directly to his story again; but from one 
and another officer I have learned, in thirty years, 
what I am telling. When we parted from him in 
St. Thomas harbor j at the end of our cruise, I was more 
sorry than I can tell. I was very glad to meet him 
again in 1830; and later in life, when I thought I had 
some influence in Washington, I moved heaven and 
earth to have him discharged. But it was like getting 
a ghost out of prison. They pretended there was no 
such man, and never was such a man. They will say 
so at the Department now! Perhaps they do not 
know. It will not be the first thing in the service 
of which the Department appears to know nothing! 

Philip Nolan, poor fellow, repented of his folly, 
and then, like a man, submitted to the fate he had 
asked for. He nevet intentionally added to the 
difficulty or delicacy of the charge of those who had 
him in hold. Accidents would happen; but never 
from his fault. Lieutenant Truxton told me that, 
when Texas was annexed, there was & careful discussion 
among the officers, whether they should get hold of 
Nolan's handsome set of maps and cut Texas out of 
it, — from the map of the world and the jnap of Mexico. 
The United States had been cut out when the atlas 
was bought for him. But it was voted, rightly enough, 
that to do this would be virtually to reveal to him 
what had happened, or, as Harry Cole said, to make 
him think Old Burr had succeeded. So it was from 
no fault of Nolan's that a great botch happened at my 


own table, when, for a short time, I was in command 
of the George Washington Corvette, on the South 
American station. We were lying in the La Plata, 
and some of the officers, who had been on shore and 
had just joined again, were entertaining us with 
accounts of their misadventures in riding the half-wild 
horses of Buenos Aires. Nolan was at table, and 
was in an unusually bright and talkative mood. Some 
story of a tumble reminded him of an adventure of 
his own when he was catching wild horses in Texas * 
with his adventurous cousin, at a time when he must 
have been quite a boy. He told the story with a good 
deal of spirit, — so much so, that the silence which 
often follows a 'good story hung over the table for an 
instant, to be broken by Nolan himself. For he asked 
perfectly unconsciously : — 

"Pray, what has become of Texas? After the Mexi- 
cans got their independence, I thought that province 
of Texas would come forward Very fast. It is really 
one of the finest regions on earth; it is the Italy of 
this continent. But I have not seen or heard a word 
of Texas for near twenty years." 

There were two Texan officers at the table. The 
reason he had never heard of Texas was that Texas 
and her affairs had been painfully cut out of his news- 
papers since Austin began his settlements; so that, 
while he read of Honduras and Tamaulipas, and, till 
quite lately, of California, — this virgin province, in 
which his brother had traveled so far, and, I believe, 
had died, had ceased to be to him. Waters and Wil- 
liams, the two Texas men, looked grimly at each other 
and tried not to laugh. Edward Morris had his 


attention attracted by the third link in the chain of the 
captain's chandelier. Watrous was seized with a 
convulsion of sneezing. Nolan himself saw that 
something was to pay, he did not know what. And 
I, as master of the feast, had to say : — 

" Texas is out of the map, Mr. Nolan. Have you 
seen Captain Back's curious account of Sir Thomas 
Roe's Welcome?" 

After that cruise I never saw Nolan again. I 
wrote to him at least twice a year, for in that voyage 
we became even confidentially intimate; but he never 
wrote to me. The other men tell me that in those 
fifteen years he aged very fast, as well he might indeed, 
but that he was still the same gentle, uncomplaining, 
silent sufferer that he ever was, bearing as best he 
could his self-appointed punishment, — rather less 
social, perhaps, with new men whom he did not know, 
but more anxious, apparently, than ever to serve and 
befriend and teach the boys, some of whom fairly 
seemed to worship him. And now it seems the dear 
old fellow is dead. He has found a home at last, and 
a country. 

Since writing this, and while considering whether 
or no I would print it, as a warning to the young 
Nolans and Vallandighams and Tatnalls of to-day of 
what it is to throw away a country, I have received 
from Danforth, who is on board the Levant, a letter 
which gives an account of Nolan's last hours. It 
removes all my doubts about telling this story. 

Here is the letter : — 


Levant, 2° 2' S. @ 131° W. 

Dear Fred: — I try to find heart and life to tell you that 
it is all over with dear old Nolan. I have been with him on 
this voyage more than I ever was, and I can understand 
wholly now the way in which you used to speak of the dear 
old fellow. I could see that he was not strong, but I had 
no idea the end was so near. The doctor has been watching 
him very carefully, and yesterday morning came to me and 
told me that Nolan was not so well, and had not left his 
stateroom, — a thing I never remember before. He had 
let the doctor come and see him as he lay there, — the 
first time the doctor had been in the stateroom, — and he 
said he should like to see me. Oh, dear! do you remember 
the mysteries we boys used to invent about his room in the 
old Intrepid days? Well, I went in, and there, to be sure, 
the poor fellow lay in his berth, smiling pleasantly as he 
gave me his hand, but looking very frail. I could not help 
a glance round, which showed me what a little shrine he had 
made of the box he was lying in. The stars and stripes 
were triced up above and around a picture of Washington, 
and he had painted a majestic eagle, with lightnings blazing 
from his beak and his foot just clasping the whole globe, 
which his wings overshadowed. The dear old boy saw my 
glance, and said, with a sad smile, "Here, you see, I have a 
country !" And then he pointed to the foot of his bed, 
where I had not seen before a great map of the United States, 
as he had drawn it from memory, and which he had there 
to look upon as he lay. Quaint, queer old names were on it, 
in large letters: " Indiana Territory," "Mississippi Terri- 
tory/ ' and "Louisiana Territory," as I suppose our fathers 
learned such things: but the old fellow had patched in 
Texas, too; he had carried his western boundary all the 
way to the Pacific, but on that shore he had defined nothing. 

"O Captain," he said, "I know I am dying. I cannot 


get home. Surely you will tell me something now? — Stop! 
stop! Do not speak till I say what I am sure you know, 
that there is not in this ship, that there is not in America, 
— God bless her! — a more loyal man than I. There can- 
not be a man who loves the old flag as I do, or prays for it as 
I do, or hopes for it as I do. There are thirty-four stars 
in it now, Danforth. I thank God for that, though I do 
not know what their names are. There has never been one 
taken away: I thank God for that. I know by that that 
there has never been any successful Burr. Danforth, 
Danforth/' he sighed out, "how like a wretched night's 
dream a boy's idea of personal fame or of separate sover- 
eignty seems, when one looks back on it after such a life as 
mine! But tell me, '■ — tell me something, — tell me every- 
thing, Danforth, before I die!" 

Ingham, I swear to you that I felt like a monster that I 
had not told him everything before. Danger or no danger, 
delicacy or no delicacy, who was I, that I should have been 
acting the tyrant all this time over this dear, sainted old 
man, who had years ago expiated, in his whole manhood's 
life, the madness of a boy's treason? "Mr, Nolan," said I, 
"I will tell you everything you ask about. Only, where 
shall I begin? " 

Oh, the blessed smile that crept over his white face! 
,and he pressed my hand and said, "God bless you! Tell 
me their names," he said, and he pointed to the stars on the 
flag. "The last I know is Ohio. My father lived in Ken- 
tucky. But I have guessed Michigan and Indiana and 
Mississippi, — that was where Fort Adams is, — they make 
twenty. But where are your other fourteen? You have 
not cut up any of the old ones, I hope?" 

Well, that was not a bad text, and I told him the names 
in as good order as I could, and he bade me take down his 
beautiful map and draw them in as I best could with my 
pencil. He was wild with delight about Texas, told me how 


his cousin died there; he had marked a gold cross near 
where he supposed his grave was; and he had guessed at 
Texas. Then he was delighted as he saw California and 
Oregon; — that, he said, he had suspected partly, because 
he had never been permitted to land on that shore, though 
the ships were there so much. "And the men," said he, 
laughing, " brought off a good deal besides furs." Then he 
went back — heavens, how far! — to ask about the Chesa- 
peake, and what was done to Barron for surrendering her 
to the Leopard, and whether Burr ever tried again, — and 
he ground his teeth with the only passion he showed. But 
in a moment that was over, and he said, "God forgive me, 
for I am sure I forgive him." Then he asked about the old 
war> — told me the true story of his serving the gun the day 
we took Java, — asked about dear old David Porter, as he 
called him. Then he settled down more quietly, and very 
happily, to hear me tell in an hour the history of fifty years. 

How I wished it had been somebody who knew something! 
But I did as well as I could. I told him of the English war. 
I told him about Fulton and the steamboat beginning. 
I told him about old Scott, and Jackson; told him all I 
could think of about the Mississippi, and New Orleans, 
and Texas, and his own old Kentucky. And do you think, 
he asked who was in command of the "Legion of the West." 
I told him it was a very gallant officer named Grant, and 
that, by our last news, he was about to establish his head- 
quarters at Vicksburg. Then, "Where was Vicksburg?" 
I worked that out on the map; it was about a hundred miles 
more or less, above his old Fort Adams; and I thought 
Fort Adams must be a ruin now. "It must be at old Vick's 
plantation, at Walnut Hills," said he: "well, that is a 

I tell you, Ingham, it was a hard thing to condense the 
history of half a century into that talk with a sick man. 
And I do not now know what I told him, — of emigration, 


and the means of it, — of steamboats, and railroads, and 
telegraphs, — of inventions, and books, and literature, — 
of the colleges, and West Point, and the Naval School, — 
but with the queerest interruptions that ever you heard. 
You see it was Robinson Crusoe asking all the accumulated 
questions of fifty-six years! 

I remember he asked, all of a sudden, who was President 
now; and when I told him, he asked if Old Abe was General 
Benjamin Lincoln's son. He said he met old General Lin- 
coln, when he was quite a boy himself, at some Indian treaty. 
I said no, that Old Abe was a Kentuckian like himself, but 
I could not tell him of what family; he had worked up 
from the ranks. "Good for him!" cried Nolan; "I am glad 
of that. As I have brooded and wondered, I have thought 
our danger was in keeping up those regular successions in the 
first families." Then I got talking about my visit to Wash- 
ington. I told him of meeting the Oregon Congressman, 
Harding; I told him about the Smithsonian, and the Explor- 
ing Expedition; I told him about the Capitol, and the statues 
for the pediment, and Crawford's Liberty, and Greenough's 
Washington. Ingham, I told him everything I could think 
of that would show the grandeur of his country and its 
prosperity; but I could not make up my mouth to tell him 
a word about this infernal rebellion! 

And he drank it in and enjoyed it as I cannot tell you. 
He grew more and more silent, yet I never thought he was 
tired or faint. I gave him a glass of water, but he just wet 
his lips, and told me not to go away. Then he asked me to 
bring the Episcopalian "Book of Public Prayer" which 
lay there, and said, with a smile, that it would open at the 
right place, — and so it did. There was his double red 
mark down the page; and I knelt down and read, and he 
repeated with me, "For ourselves and our country, O gra- 
cious God, we thank Thee, that, notwithstanding our 
manifold trangressions of Thy holy laws, Thou has continued 


to us Thy marvelous kindness," — and so to the end of that 
thanksgiving. Then he turned to the end of the same book, 
arid I read the words more familiar to me: "Most heartily 
we beseech Thee with Thy favor to behold and bless Thy 
servant, the President of the United States, and all others 
in authority," — and the rest of the Episcopal collect. 
"Danforth," said he, "I have repeated those prayers night 
and morning, it is now fifty-five years." And then he said 
he would go to sleep. He bent me down over him and 
said, "Look in my Bible, Captain, when I am gone." And 
I went away. 

But I had no thought it was the end. I thought he was 
tired and would sleep. I know he was happy, and I wanted 
him to be alone. 

But in an hour, when the doctor went in gently, he found 
Nolan had breathed his life away with a smile. He had 
something pressed close to his lips. . It was his father's 
badge of the Order of the Cincinnati. 

We looked in his Bible, and there was a slip of paper 
at the place where he had marked the text: 

"They desire a country, even a heavenly: wherefore 
God is not ashamed to be called their God: for He hath 
prepared for them a city." 

On this slip of paper he had written: 

"Bury me in the sea; it has been my home, and I love it. 
But will not some one set up a stone for my memory at 
Fort Adams or at Orleans, that my disgrace may not be 
more than I ought to bear? Say on it: 

"In Memory of 

"Lieutenant in the Army of the United States, 

"He loved his country as no other man has 
loved her; but no man deserved less at her hands." 

— Edward Everett Hale (Abridged) 



Liberty, my countrymen, is responsibility; re- 
sponsibility is duty; duty is God's order, and when 
faithfully obeyed will preserve liberty. We need have 
no fears of the future if we will' perform every obli- 
gation of duty and of citizenship. If we lose the small- 
est share of our freedom we have no one to blame but 
ourselves. This country is ours — ours to govern, 
ours to guide, ours to enjoy. We are both sovereign 
and subject. All are now free, subject henceforth to 
ourselves alpne. We pay no homage to an earthly 
throne; only to God we bend the knee. The soldier 
did his work and did it well. The present and the 
future are with the citizen, whose judgment in our 
free country is supreme. 

— William McKinlby 


What constitutes a state? 
Not high-raised battlements or labored mound, 

Thick wall or moated gate; 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned; 

Not bays and broad-arm ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; 

Not starred and spangled courts, 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 
No ! men — high-minded men — 


With powers as far above dull brutes endued, 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; 

Men, who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; 

Prevent the long-aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain. 

These constitute a state; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 

O'er thrones and globes elate 
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

• • ■ • • . • . . . 

— Sir William Jones 


Patriotism is love of country, and loyalty to its 
life and weal — love tender and strong: tender as 
the love of son for mother, strong as the pillars of 
death; loyalty generous and disinterested, shrinking 
from no sacrifice, seeking no reward save country's 
honor and country's triumph. 

Patriotism! There is magic in the word. It is 
bliss to repeat it. Through ages the human race 
burnt the incense of admiration and reverence at the 
shrines of patriotism. The most beautiful pages of 
history are those that count its deeds. Fireside tales, 
the outpourings of the memories of peoples, borrow 
from it their warmest glow. Poets are sweetest when 
they reecho its whisperings; orators are most potent 
when they thrill its chords to music. 


The human race pays homage to patriotism because 
of its supreme value. Patriotism is the vital spark of 
national honor; it is the fount of the nation's pros- 
perity, the shield of the nation's safety. Take patriot- 
ism away, — the nation's soul has fled, bloom and 
beauty have vanished from the nation's countenance. 

The human race pays homage to patriotism because 
of its supreme loveliness. Patriotism goes out to what 
is among earth's possessions the most previous, the 
first and dearest, — country; and its effusion is the 
fragrant flowering of the purest and noblest sentiments 
of the heart. 

Patriotism is innate in all men; the absence of it 
betokens a perversion of human nature; but it grows its 
full growth only where thoughts are elevated and heart- 
beatings are generous. 

Man is born a social being. A condition of his 
existence and of his growth to mature age is the family. 
Nor does the family suffice to itself. A larger social 
organism is needed, into which families gather, so as 
to obtain from one another security to life and prop- 
erty, and aid in the development of the faculties and 
powers with which nature has endowed the children 
of men. The whole human race is too extensive and 
too diversified in interests to serve those ends; hence, 
its subdivisions into countries and peoples. Countries 
have their providential limits, — the waters of the 
sea, a mountain range, the lines of similarity of re- 
quirements for all methods of living. 

In America the government takes from the liberty 
of the citizen only so much as is necessary for the 
weal of the nation, which the citizen by his own act 


freely concedes. In America there are no masters who 
govern in their own right, for their own interest, or 
at their own will. We have over us no Louis XIV, 
saying, "The State, it is I"; no Hohenzollern, announc- 
ing that in his acts as sovereign he is responsible only 
to his conscience and to God. Ours is the government 
of the people, by the people, and for the people. The 
government is our own organized will. 

Our Republic is liberty's native home — America. 
The God-given mission of the Republic of America 
is not only to its own people; it is to all the peoples 
of the earth, before whose eyes it is the symbol of 
human rights and human liberty, toward whom its 
flag flutters hopes of future happiness fpr themselves. 

Is there not for Americans a meaning in the word 
Country? Is there for Americans reason to live for 
country, and if need there be, to die for country? 
Whatever the country, patriotism is a duty; in America 
the duty is thrice sacred. The duty of patriotism is 
the duty of justice and of gratitude. The country 
fosters and protects our dearest interests, — our 
altars and hearthstones. Without it there is no 
safety for life or property, no opportunities for develop- 
ment and progress. All that the country is, she makes 
ours, and to-day how significant the world over are 
the words! I am a citizen of America. 

The days when patriotism was a duty have not 
departed. The safety of the Republic lies in the 
vigilant and active patriotism of the American people. 
Day by day the spirit of Americanism waxes strong; 
narrowness of thought and increasing strife cannot 
resist its influences. 


Noblest Ship of State, sail on over billows, and 
through storms, undaunted, imperishable! Within 
thy bulwarks the fairy goddess is enthroned, hold- 
ing in her hands the dreams and hopes of humanity. 
Oh, for her sake guard well thyself! Sail thou on, 
peerless ship, safe from shoals and malign winds, ever 
strong in keel, ever beauteous in prow and canvas, 
ever guided by heaven's polar star! Sail thou 6n, I 
pray thee, undaunted and imperishable! 

— Archbishop John Ireland (Abridged) 


The Men to Make a State Must Be Intelligent 
Men. The right of suffrage is a fearful thing. It 
calls for wisdom, and discretion, and intelligence, of no 
ordinary interests of all the nation. It takes in, at 
every exercise, the interests of all the nation. Its 
results reach forward through time into eternity. 
Who will go to it blindly? Who will go to it passion- 
ately? Who will go to it as a sycophant, a tool, a 
slave? How many do! These are not the men to 
make a state. 

The Men to Make a State Must be Honest 
Men. I mean men with a single face. I mean men 
with a single eye. I mean men with a single tongue. 
I mean men that consider always what is right, and 
do it at whatever cost. I mean men whom no king 
on earth can buy. 

Men who are in the market for the highest bidder; 
men that make politics their trade, and look to office for 


a living; men that will crawl, where they cannot 
climb, — these are not the men to make a state. 

The Men to Make a State Must be Brave 
Men. I mean the men that do, but do not talk. 
I mean the men that dare to stand alone. I mean 
the men that are to-day where they were yesterday, 
and will be there to-morrow. I mean the men that 
can stand still and take the storm. I mean the men 
that are afraid to kill, but not afraid to die. 

.The man that calls hard names and uses threats; 
the man that stabs in secret with his tongue or with 
his pen; the man that moves a mob to deeds of vio- 
lence and self-destruction; the man that freely offers 
his last drop of blood, but never sheds the first, — 
these are not the men to make a state. 

— George W. Doane (Abridged) 



George Washington was born in Virginia, February 
22, 1732. He received a common school education, and in 
addition, he perfected himself in surveying and bookkeeping. 
He was a major in the militia at the age of nineteen, and 
served in the army along the Ohio River. 

Washington was a member of the First and Second 
Continental Congresses. From this period, the story of his 
life becomes the history of his country. In 1775 he was 
appointed commander in chief of the Revolutionary War. 
He was elected first President of the United States by a 


unanimous vote, and filled that high office for eight years. 
At the close of his second term as President, he retired to his 
home at Mount Vernon, where he died December 14, 1799. 

The following lines were found written on the back of a 
portrait of Washington, in the mansion at Mount Vernon. 
The author is unknown. 

"The defender of his country — the founder of 
liberty — the friend of man. History and tradition 
are explored in vain for a parallel to his character. 
In the annals of modern greatness he stands alone; 
and the noblest names of antiquity lose their luster 
in his presence. Born the benefactor of mankind, 
he united all the qualities necessary to an illustrious 
career. Nature made him great; he made himself 
virtuous. Called by his country to the defense of her 
liberties, he triumphantly vindicated the rights of 
humanity and on the pillars of national independence 
laid the foundations of a great republic. 

Twice invested with Supreme Magistracy by the 
unanimous vote of a free people, he surpassed in the 
cabinet the glories of the field, and voluntarily resign- 
ing the scepter and the sword, retired to the shades of 
private life. A spectacle so new and so sublime was 
contemplated with the prof oundest admiration, and the 
name of Washington, adding new luster to humanity, 
resounded to the remotest regions of the earth; mag- 
nanimous in youth, glorious through life, great in 
death; his highest ambition, — the happiness of man- 
kind; his noblest victory, the conquest of himself. 
Bequeathing to posterity the inheritance of his fame, 
and building his monument in the hearts of his country- 


men, he lived the ornament of the eighteenth century; 
he died regretted by a mourning world. 






In the discharge of this trust the [Presidency] I will 
only say that I have, with good intentions, contributed 
towards the organization and administration of the 
government the best exertions of which a very fallible 
judgment was capable. Not unconscious, in the 
outset, of the inferiority of my qualifications, experi- 
ence in my own eyes, perhaps still more in the eyes of 
others, has strengthened the motives to diffidence of 
myself; and every day the increasing weight of years 
admonishes me more and more that the shade of retire- 
ment is as necessary to me as it will be welcome. 
Satisfied that if any circumstances have given peculiar 
value to my services, they were temporary, I have 
the consolation to believe that while choice and pru- 
dence invite me to quit the political scene, patriotism 
does not forbid it. 

In looking forward to the moment which is intended 
to terminate the career of my public life, my feelings 
do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledg- 
ment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my 
beloved country for the many honors which it has 
conferred upon me; still more for the steadfast con- 


fidence with which it has supported me; and for the 
opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting 
my inviolable attachment by services faithful and 
persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. 
If benefits have resulted to our country for these 
services, let it always be remembered to your praise; 
and as an instructive example in our annals that, 
under circumstances in which the passions — agitated 
in every direction — were liable to mislead, amidst 
appearances sometimes dubious, vicissitudes of for- 
tune often discouraging, in situations in which not in- 
frequently want of success has countenanced the 
spirit of criticism, — the constancy of your support 
was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee 
of the plans by which they were effected. Profoundly 
penetrated by this idea, I shall carry it with me to 
the grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows 
that Heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens 
of its beneficence; that your union and brotherly 
affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution, 
which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly 
maintained; that its administration in every depart- 
ment may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; — 
that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these states, 
under the auspices of liberty, may be made complete, 
by so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of 
this blessing, as will acquire to them the glory to 
recommending it to the applause, the affection, and 
adoption of every nation which is yet a stranger to it. 

— Abridged 



The following rules of behavior are said to have been 
copied by Washington when a boy, from a book that he 
found in his father's library. 

Every action in company ought to be with some 
sign of respect to those present. 

Turn not your back to others, especially in speaking; 
jog not the table or desk on which another reads or 
writes; lean not 6n any one. 

Be no flatterer; neither play with any one that 
delights not to be played with. 

Read no letters, books, or papers in company; but 
when there is a necessity for doing it, you must ask 
leave. Come not near the books or writings of any 
one so as to read them, unless desired, nor give your 
opinion of them unasked; also, look not nigh when 
another is writing a letter. 

Make no show of taking great delight in your vic- 
tuals; feed not with greediness; lean not on the table; 
neither find fault with what you eat. 

Be not angry at table, whatever happens; and if 
you have reason to be so, show it not; put on a cheer- 
ful countenance, especially if there be strangers, for 
good humor makes one dish of meat a feast. 

When you meet with one of greater quality than 
yourself, stop and retire, especially if it be at a door 
or any strait place, to give way to him to pass. 

In writing or speaking, give to every person his due 
title, according to his degree and the custom of the 


Strive not with your superiors in argument, but 
always submit your judgment to others with modesty. 

Be not forward, but friendly and courteous; the 
first to salute, hear, and answer; and be not pensive 
when it is time to converse. 

Play not the peacock, looking everywhere about you 
to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, if 
your stockings set neatly, and clothes handsomely. 

Think before you speak; pronounce not imperfectly, 
nor J)ring out your words too hastily, but orderly and 

Undertake not what you cannot perform, but be 
careful to keep your promise. 

Be not tedious in discourse. Make not many digres- 
sions nor repeat often the same manner of discourse. 

When you deliver a matter, do it without passion, 
and with discretion, however mean the person may 
be you do it to. 

Associate yourself with men of good quality, if you 
esteem your own reputation; for it is better to be 
alone than in bad company. 

Go not thither where you know not whether you will 
be welcome or not. Give not advice without being 
asked; and when desired, do it briefly. 

Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the dis- 
paragement of any. 

Speak not injurious words, neither in jest nor ear- 
nest; scoff at none, although they give occasion. 

Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another 
though he were your enemy. 

When a man does all he can, though it succeeds not 
well, blame not him that did it. 



Abraham Lincoln was born in Hardin County, Ken- 
tucky, February 12, 1809. His early life was filled with 
struggles to overcome the hardships that pioneer settlers 
encountered. He had little chance to gain an education 
through the schools, as his attendance, he said "did not 
amount to more than a year." But he read every book he 
could obtain, and through his own efforts he gained a wide 
knowledge of the world and a mental training that made 
him one of the greatest men in the history of our country. 
He was successively farmer, carpenter, storekeeper, sur- 
veyor, and lawyer. His first public office was that of post- 
master. He was later elected to the State Legislature of 
Illinois, and was a representative in Congress, for four 
years, 1847-1850. 

Lincoln was elected President of the United States in 
1860. He was reelected, and had just begun his second 
term when he was assassinated. He died April 15, 1865. 
His great ability as a statesman and his upright character 
gained for him the confidence of the people of the country. 
His name is cherished as is that of no other great American, 
except Washington. 


Where shall we find an example so impressive as 
Abraham Lincoln, whose career might be chanted by a 
Greek chorus as at once the prelude and the epilogue 
of the most imperial theme of modern times? 

Born as lowly as the Son of God, in a hovel; reared 
in penury, squalor, with no gleam of light or fair sur- 
rounding; without graces, actual or acquired; without 
name or fame, or official training, it was reserved for 
this strange being, late in life, to be snatched from 


obscurity, raised to supreme command at a supreme 
moment, and entrusted with the destiny of a nation. 

The great leaders of his party, the most experienced 
and accomplished public men of the day, were made 
to stand aside, were sent to the rear, whilst this fan- 
tastic figure was led by unseen hands to the front and 
given the reins of power. It is immaterial whether 
we were for him or against him; wholly immaterial. 
That during four years, carrying with them such a 
weigh£ of responsibility as the world never witnessed 
before, he filled the vast space allotted him in the' 
eyes and actions of mankind, is to say that he was 
inspired of God, for nowhere else could he have ac- 
quired the wisdom and the virtue. 

A thousand years hence, no drama, no tragedy, no 
epic poem, will be filled with greater wonder, or be 
followed by mankind with a deeper feeling, than that 
which tells the story of his life and death. 

I look into the crystal globe that, slowly turning, 
tells the story of his life, and I see a little heart-broken 
boy, weeping by the outstretched form of a dead 
mother, then bravely, nobly trudging a hundred miles 
to obtain her Christian burial; I see this motherless 
lad growing to manhood amid scenes that seem to lead 
to nothing but abasement; no teachers; no books, no 
chart, except his own untutored mind; no compass, 
except his own undisciplined will; no light, save from 
Heaven; yet, like the caravel of Columbus, struggling 
on and on through the trough of the sea always 
toward the destined land. I see the full-grown man, 
stalwart and brave, an athlete in activity of movement, 
in strength of limb, yet vexed by weird dreams and 


visions — of life, of love, of religion, sometimes verg- 
ing on despair. I see the mind, grown as robust as 
the body, throw off the phantasms of the imagination, 
and give itself wholly to the workaday uses of the 
world — the rearing of children, the earning of bread, 
the multiplied duties of life. I see the party leader, 
self-confident in conscious rectitude; original, because 
he was fearless, pursuing his convictions with earnest 
zeal, and urging them upon his fellows with the re- 
sources of an oratory which was hardly more impres- 
sive than it was many-sided. I see him, the preferred 
among his fellows, ascend the eminence reserved for 
him; and him alone of all the statesmen of the time, 
and the derision of opponents and the distrust of 
supporters, yet unawed and unmoved because thor- 
oughly equipped to meet the emergency. 

The same being, from first to last; the poor child 
weeping over a dead mother; the great chief sobbing 
amid the cruel horrors of war; flinching not from duty, 
not changing his lifelong ways of dealing with the 
stern realities which pressed upon him and hurried 
him onward. And, last scene of all, that ends the 
strange, eventful history, I see him lying dead there 
in the Capitol of the nation to which he had rendered 
"the last, full measure of his devotion/ ' the flag of 
his country around him, the world in mourning. 

— Henry Watterson 



O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; 
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we 

sought is won; 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 


But heart ! heart ! heart ! 

the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle 

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you 

the shores a-crowding; 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 


Here, Captain! dear father! 

This arm beneath your head ! 
It is some dream that on the deck 

YouVe fallen cold and dead. 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 

The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed 

and done; 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 



Exult, shores! and ring, bells! 

But I, with mournful tread, 
Walk the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

— Walt Whitman 


This address, given November 19, 1863, at the dedica- 
tion of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, is regarded 
as one of the finest pieces of oratory in the English 

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought 
forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in 
liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men 
are created equal.. Now we are engaged in a great 
civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation 
so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We 
are met on a great battle field of that war. We have 
come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final 
resting place for those who here gave their lives that 
that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and 
proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense 
we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot 
hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, 
who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our 
poor power to add or detract. The world will little 
note, nor long remember, what we say here; but it 
can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the 
living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished 
work which they who fought here have thus far so 


nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedi- 
cated to the great task remaining before us — that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to 
that cause for which they gave the last full measure 
of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these 
dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, 
under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and 
that government of the people, by the people, for the 
people, shall not perish from the earth. 

— Abraham Lincoln 



An anecdote, showing Lincoln's merciful nature in a 
touching light, and related by Mr. L. E. Chittenden 
in his " Recollections of President Lincoln and His 
Administration/ ' from authentic sources, is the one of 
the sleeping sentinel, William Scott, whose life Lincoln 
saved after he had been condemned to be shot. Lin- 
coln personally saw Scott and talked with him a long 
time. Ijicott would not talk to his comrades of the 
interview afterward until one night, when he had 
received a letter from home, he finally opened his 
heart to a friend in this wise: 

"The President was the kindest man I had ever 
seen. I was scared at first, for I had never before 
talked with a great man. But Mr. Lincoln was so 
easy with me, so gentle, that I soon forgot my fright. 
. . . He stood up, and he said to me, 'My boy, stand 
up here and look me in the face/ I did as he bade me. 


'My boy/ he said, 'you are not going to be shot to- 
morrow. I am going to trust you and send you back 
to your regiment. I have come up here from Wash- 
ington, where I have a great deal to do, and what I 
want to know is how you are going to pay my bill.' 
There was a big lump in my throat. I could scarcely 
speak. But I got it crowded down and managed to 
say: 'There is some way to pay you, and I will find 
it after a little. There is the bounty in the savings 
bank. I guess we could borrow some money on a 
mortgage on the farm/ I was sure the boys would 
help, so I thought we could raise it, if it wasn't more 
than $500 or $600. 'But it is a great deal more than 
$500 or $600/ he said. I said I didn't see how, 
but I was sure I would find some way — if J lived. 
Then Mr. Lincoln put his hands on my shoulders and 
looked into my face as if he were sorry, and said: 
'My boy, my bill is a very large one. Your friends 
cannot pay it, nor your bounty, nor your farm, nor all 
your comrades. There is only one man in all the 
world who can pay it, and his name is William Scott. 
If from this day William Scott does his duty, so that 
if I were there when he comes to die he can look 
me in the face as he does now, and say: "I have 
kept my promise and I have done my duty as a sol- 
dier!" then my bill will be paid. Will you make 
that promise and try to keep it?' I said I would 
make the promise and with God's help I would keep 
it. He went away out of my sight forever. I know 
I shall never see him again, but may God forget me 
if I ever forget his kind words or my promise." 

— Washington Star 


"My boy, stand up here and look me in the face." 



President Lincoln was walking with a friend and 
turned back for some distance to assist a beetle that 
had gotten on its back and lay on the walk, legs sprawl- 
ing in air, vainly trying to turn itself over. The 
friend expressed surprise that the President, burdened 
with the care of a warring nation, should find time to 
spare in assisting a bug. 

"Well," said Lincoln, with that homely sincerity 
that has touched the hearts of millions of his country- 
men and placed him foremost in our affections as one 
of the greatest Americans, "do you know that if I 
had left that bug struggling there on his back, I 
wouldn't have felt just right? I wanted to put him 
on his feet and give him an equal chance with other 
bugs of his class." 



The following extract is taken from "The Spy," a story 
of Revolutionary times, by J. Fenimore Cooper. 

Harvey Birch, a peddler, had acted as a spy, bringing to 
Washington many times, valuable information concerning 
the enemy. In order to carry on this work successfully he 
was obliged to appear as a friend to the British and thus 
had seemed to be a traitor to the American cause. The 
following chapter tells of his last interview with Washington. 

It was at the close of a stormy day in the month of 
September, that a large assemblage of officers was 
collected near the door of a building that was situated 


in the heart of the American troops, who held the 
Jerseys. The age, the dress, and the dignity of de- 
portment of most of these warriors, indicated them 
to be of high rank: but to one in particular was paid 
a deference and obedience that announced him to be 
of the highest. His dress was plain, but it bore the 
usual military distinctions of command. He was 
mounted on a noble animal, of a deep bay; and a 
group of young men, in gayer attire, evidently awaited 
his pleasure, and did his bidding. Many a hat was 
lifted as its owner addressed this officer; and when he 
spoke, a profound attention, exceeding the respect of 
mere professional etiquette, was exhibited on every 
countenance. At length the general raised his own 
hat, and bowed gravely to all around him. The 
salute was returned, and the party dispersed, leaving 
the officer without a single attendant, except his body- 
servants and one aid. Dismounting, he stepped back 
a few paces, and for a moment viewed the condition 
of his horse with the eye of one who well understood 
the animal, and then, casting a brief but expressive 
glance at his aid, he retired into the building, followed 
by that gentleman. 

On entering an apartment that was apparently 
fitted for his reception, he took a seat, and continued 
for a long time in a thoughtful attitude, like one in 
the habit of communing much with himself. During 
this silence, the aid stood in expectation of his orders. 
At length the general raised his eyes, and spoke in 
those low, placid tones that seemed natural to him. 
"Has the man whom I wished to see arrived, sir?" 
"He waits the pleasure of your excellency.' } 


"I will receive him here, and alone, if you please." 

The aid bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes 
the door again opened, and a figure, gliding into the 
apartment, stood modestly at a distance from the 
general, without speaking. His entrance was un- 
heard by the officer, who sat gazing at th§ fire, still 
absorbed in his own meditations. Several minutes 
passed, when he spoke to himself in an undertone : 

" To-morrow we must raise the curtain, and expose 
our plans. May heaven prosper them! " 

A slight movement made by the stranger caught his 
ear, and he turned his head, and saw that he was not 
alone. He pointed silently to the fire, toward which 
the figure advanced, although the multitude of his 
garments, which seemed 'more calculated for disguise 
than comfort, rendered its warmth unnecessary. A 
second mild and courteous gesture motioned to a 
vacant chair, but the stranger refused it with a modest 
acknowledgment. Another pause followed, and con- 
tinued for some time. At length the officer arose, and 
opening a desk that was laid upon the table near which 
he sat, took from it a small, but apparently heavy bag. 

" Harvey Birch," he said, turning to the stranger, 
"the time has arrived when our connection must 
cease; henceforth and forever we must be strangers." 

The peddler dropped the folds of the greatcoat that 
concealed his features, and gazed for a moment 
earnestly at the face of the speaker; then, dropping 
his head upon his bosom, he said meekly : 

"If it be your excellency's pleasure." 

"It is necessary. Since I have filled the station 
which I now hold, it has become my duty to know 


many men, who, like yourself, have been my instru- 
ments in procuring intelligence. You have I trusted 
more than all; I early saw in you a regard to truth 
and principle, that, I am pleased to say, has never 
deceived me — you alone know my secret agents in 
the city, and on your fidelity depend, not only their 
fortunes, but their lives." 

He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full justice 
might be done to the peddler, and then continued: 

"I believe you are one of the very few that I have 
employed who have acted with a strong attachment 
to the liberties of America.' ' 

During this address, Harvey gradually raised his 
head from his bosom, until it reached the highest 
point of elevation; a faint tinge gathered in his cheeks, 
and, as the officer concluded, it was diffused over his 
whole countenance in a deep glow, while he stood 
proudly swelling with his emotions, but with eyes that 
modestly sought the feet of the speaker. 

"It is now my duty to pay you for these services; 
hitherto you have postponed receiving your reward, 
and the debt has become a heavy one — I wish not 
to undervalue your dangers; here are a hundred 
doubloons; you will remember the poverty of our 
country, and attribute .to it the smallness of your pay." 

The peddler raised his eyes to the countenance of 
the speaker; but, as the other held forth the money, 
he moved back, as if refusing the bag. 

"It is not much for your services and risks, I ac- 
knowledge," continued the general, "but it is all that 
I have to offer; at the end of the campaign, it may be 
in my power to increase it." 


"Does your excellency think that I have exposed 
my life, and blasted my character, for money? " 

"If not for money, what then?" • 

"What has brought your excellency into the field? 
For what do you daily and hourly expose your precious 
life to battle and the halter? What is there about 
me to mourn, when such men as you risk their all for 
our country? No — no — no — not a dollar of your 
gold will I touch; poor America has need of it all!" 

The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and 
fell at the feet of the peddler, where it lay neglected 
during the remainder of the interview. The officer 
looked steadily at the face of his companion, and 
continued : 

"There are many motives which might govern me, 
that to you are unknown. Our situations are different; 
I am known as the leader of armies — but you must 
descend into the grave with the reputation of a foe 
to your native land. Remember that the veil which 
conceals your true character cannot be raised in years 
— perhaps never." 

Birch again lowered his face, but there was no yield- 
ing of the soul in the movement. 

"You will soon be old; the prime of your days is 
already past; what have you to subsist on?" 

"These!" said the peddler, stretching forth his 
hands, that were already browned with toil. 

"But those may fail you; take enough to secure a 
support to your age. Remember your risks and cares. 
I have told you that the characters of men who are 
much esteemed in life depend on your secrecy; what 
pledge can I give them of your fidelity? " 


"Tell them," said Birch, advancing, and uncon- 
sciously resting one foot on the bag, "tell them that 
I would not take the gold!" 

The composed features of the officer relaxed into a 
smile of benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the 
peddler firmly. 

"Now, indeed, I know you; and although the same 
reasons which have hitherto compelled me to expose 
your valuable life will still exist, and prevent my 
openly asserting your character, in private I can always 
be your friend; fail not to apply to me when in want 
or suffering, and, so long as God giveth to me, so long 
will I freely share with a man who feels so nobly and 
acts so well. If sickness or want should ever assail 
you, and peace once more smile upon our efforts, seek 
the gate of him whom you have so often met as Harper, 
and he will not blush to acknowledge you in his true 

"It is little that I need in this life," said Harvey; 
"so long as God gives me health and honest industry, 
I can never want in this country; but to know that 
your excellency is my friend is a blessing that I prize 
more than all the gold of England's treasury." 

The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude 
of intense thought. He then drew to him the desk, 
and wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it 
to the peddler. 

"That Providence destines this country to some 
great and glorious fate I must believe, while I witness 
the patriotism that pervades the bosoms of her lowest 
citizens," he said. "It must be dreadful to a mind 
Jike yours to descend into the grave, branded as a foe 


to liberty; but you already know the lives that would 
be sacrificed, should your real character be revealed. 
It is impossible to do you justice now, but I fearlessly 
entrust you with this certificate; should we never 
meet again, it may be serviceable to your children.' ' 

" Children !" exclaimed the peddler. "Can I give to 
a family the infamy of my name!" 

The officer gazed at the strong emotion he exhibited 
with pain, and he made a slight movement toward 
the gold; but it was arrested by the expression of his 
companion's face. Harvey saw the intention, and 
shook his head, as he continued more mildly: 

"It is, indeed, a treasure that your excellency gives 
me; it is safe too. There are men living who could 
say that my life was nothing to me, compared to your 
secrets. The paper that I told you was lost I swallowed 
when taken last by the Virginians. It was the only 
time I ever deceived your excellency, and it shall be 
the last; yes, this is, indeed, a treasure to me; per- 
haps," he continued, with a melancholy smile, "it may 
be known after my death who was my friend; but if 
it should not, there are none to grieve for me." 

"Remember," said the officer, with strong emotion, 
"that in me you will always have a secret friend; 
but openly I cannot know you." 

"I know it, I know it," said Birch; "I knew it when 
I took the service. Tis probably the last time that I 
shall ever see your excellency. May God pour down 
his choicest blessings on your head!" He paused, 
and moved toward the door. The officer followed 
him with eyes that expressed deep interest. Once 
more the peddler turned, and seemed to gaze on the 


placid, but commanding features of the general with 
regret and reverence, and then, bowing low, he with- 


There was once a time when New England groaned 
under the actual pressure of heavier wrongs than those 
threatened ones which brought on the Revolution. 
James II had annulled the charters of all his colonies, 
and sent a harsh and unprincipled soldier to take away 
our liberties and endanger our religion. The admini&- 
tration of Sir Edmund Andros lacked scarcely a single 
characteristic of tyranny: a Governor and Council, 
holding office from the King, and wholly independent 
of the country; laws made and taxes levied without 
concurrence of the people, immediate or by their 
representatives; the rights of private citizens violated, 
and the titles of all landed property declared void; 
the voice of complaint stifled by restrictions on the 
press; and, finally, disaffection, overawed by the 
first band of mercenary troops that ever marched on 
our free soil. For two years our ancestors were kept 
in sullen submission by that filial love which had 
invariably secured their allegiance to the mother coun- 
try, whether its head chanced to be a parliament, pro- 
tector, or monarch. Till these evil times, however, 
such allegiance had been merely nominal, and the 
colonists had ruled themselves, enjoying far more 
freedom than was even yet the privilege of the native 
subjects of Great Britain, 

At length a rumor reached our shores that the Prince 


of Orange had ventured on an enterprise, the success 
of which would be the triumph of civil and religious 
rights and the salvation of New England. It was but 
a doubtful whisper. It might be false, or the attempt 
might fail; and, in either case, the man that stirred 
against King James would lose his head. Still, the 
intelligence produced a marked effect. The people 
smiled mysteriously in the streets, and threw bold 
glances at their oppressors; while far and wide there 
was a subdued and silent agitation, as if the slightest 
signal would rouse the whole land from its sluggish 
despondency. Aware of their danger, the rulers re- 
solved to avert it by an imposing display of strength, 
and perhaps to confirm their despotism by still harsher 
measures. One afternoon in April, 1689, Sir Edmund 
Andros and his favorite councilors, being warm 
with wine, assembled the redcoats of the Governor's 
Guard, and made their appearance in the streets of 
Boston. The sun was near setting when the march 

The roll of the drum, at that unquiet crisis, seemed 
to go through the Streets less as the martial music of 
the soldiers than as a muster call to the inhabitants 
themselves. A multitude, by various avenues, assem- 
bled in King Street, which was destined to be the scene, 
nearly a century afterwards, of another encounter be-, 
tween the troops of Britain and a people struggling 
against her tyranny. Though more than sixty years 
had elapsed since the Pilgrims came, this crowd of 
their descendants showed the strong and somber fea- 
tures of their character perhaps more strikingly in 
such a stern emergency than on happier occasions. 


There were the sober garb, the general severity of the 
mien, the gloomy and undismayed expression, the 
Scriptural forms of speech, and the confidence in 
Heaven's blessing on a righteous cause, which would 
have marked a band of original Puritans when threat- 
ened by some peril of the wilderness. Indeed, it was 
not yet time for the old spirit to be extinct, since there 
were men in the street that day who had worshiped 
there beneath the trees, before a house was raised to 
the God for whom they had become exiles. Several 
ministers were scattered among the crowd, which, un- 
like all other mobs, regarded them with such reverence 
as if there were sanctity in their very garments. "These 
holy men exerted their influence to quiet the people, 
but not to disperse them. Meantime, the purpose of 
the Governor in disturbing the peace of the town at a 
period when the slightest commoti.on might throw the 
country into a ferment was almost the universal subject 
of inquiry, and variously explained. 

" Satan will strike his master stroke presently/' 
cried some, " because he knoweth his time is short. 
All our godly pastors are to be dragged to prison !" 

Hereupon the people of each parish gathered closer 
around their minister, who looked calmly upward and 
assumed a more apostolic dignity, as well befitted a 
candidate for the highest honor of his profession, the 
crown of martyrdom. 

Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, although 
the wiser class believed the Governor's object some- 
what less atrocious. His predecessor under the old 
charter, Bradstreet, a venerable companion of the 
first settlers, was known to be in town. There were 


grounds for conjecturing that Sir Edmund Andros 
intended at once to strike terror by a parade of mili- 
tary force, and to confound the opposite faction by 
possessing himself of their chief. 

" Stand firm for the old charter Governor!" shouted 
the crowd, seizing upon the idea. "The good old 
Governor Bradstreet!" 

While this cry was at its loudest, the people were 
surprised by the well-known figure of Governor Brad- 
street himself, a patriarch of nearly ninety, who ap- 
peared on the elevated steps of a door, and, with 
characteristic mildness, besought them to submit to 
the constituted authorities. 

"My children/ ' concluded this venerable person, 
"do nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but pray for the 
welfare of New England, and expect patiently what 
the Lord will do in this matter!" 

The event was soon to be decided. All this time, 
the roll of the drum had been approaching through 
Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with reverberations 
from house to house, and the regular tramp of martial 
footsteps, it burst into the street. A double rank of 
soldiers made their appearance, occupying the whole 
breadth of the passage, with shouldered matchlocks, 
and matches burning, so as to present a row of fires 
in the dusk. Their steady march was like the progress 
of a machine, that would roll irresistibly over every- 
thing in its way. Next, moving slowly, with a con- 
fused clatter of hoofs on the pavement, rode a party 
of mounted gentlemen, the central figure being Sir 
Edmund Andros, elderly, but erect and soldier-like. 
Those around him were his favorite councilors, and 



the bitterest foes of New England. At his right hand 
rode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, that " blasted 
wretch/ ' as Cotton Mather calls him, who achieved 
the downfall of our ancient government, and was 
followed through life with a sensible curse, and to the 
grave. On the other side was Bullivant, scattering 
jests and mockery as he rode along. Dudley came 
behind, with a downcast look, dreading, as well he 
might, to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who 
beheld him, their only countryman by birth, among 
the oppressors of his native land. The captain of a 
frigate in the harbor, and two or three civil officers, 
under Crown, were also there. But the figure which 
most attracted the public eye, and stirred up the 
deepest feeling, was the Episcopal clergyman of King's 
Chapel, riding haughtily among the magistrates in his 
priestly vestments, the fitting representative of prel- 
acy and persecution, the union of church and state 
and all those abominations which had driven the 
Puritans to the wilderness. Another guard of soldiers, 
in double rank, brought up the rear. 

The whole scene was a picture of the condition of 
New England, and its moral, the deformity of any 
, government that does not grow out of the nature of 
things and the character of the people. On one side 
the religious multitude, with their sad visages and 
dark attire; and on the other, the group of despotic 
rulers, with the high churchman in the midst, and here 
and there a crucifix at their bosoms, all magnificently 
clad, flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority, and 
scoffing at the universal groan. And the mercenary 
soldiers, waiting but the word to deluge the street 


with blood, showed the only means by which obedience 
could be secured. 

"0 Lord of Hosts," cried a voice among the crowd, 
" provide a Champion for thy people!" 

This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served as 
a herald's cry to introduce a remarkable personage. 
The crowd had rolled back, and were now huddled 
together nearly at the extremity of the street, while 
the soldiers had advanced no more than a third of its 
length. The intervening space was empty — a paved 
solitude, between lofty edifices, which threw almost a 
twilight shadow over it. Suddenly, there was seen the 
figure of an ancient man, who seemed to have emerged 
from among the people, and was walking by himself 
along the center of the street, to confront the armed 
band. He wore the old Puritan dress, a dark cloak and 
a steeple-crowned hat, in the fashion of at least fifty 
years before, with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but 
a staff in his hand, to assist the tremulous gait of age. 

When at some distance from the multitude, the old 
man turned slowly round, displaying a face of antique 
majesty, rendered doubly venerable by the hoary 
beard that descended on his breast. He made a ges- 
ture at once of encouragement and warning, then 
turned again, and resumed his way. 

"Who is the gray patriarch?" asked the young men 
of their sires. 

"Who is the venerable brother?" asked the old 
men among themselves. 

But none could make reply. The fathers of the 
people, those of fourscore years and upwards, were 
disturbed, deeming it strange that they should forget 


one of such evident authority, whom they must have 
known in their early days, the associate of Winthrop, 
and all the old councilors, giving laws, and making 
prayers, and leading them against the savage. The 
elderly men ought to have remembered him, too, with 
locks as gray in their youth, as their own were now. 
And the young! How could he have passed so utterly 
from their memories — that hoary sire, the relic of 
long-departed times, whose awful benediction had 
surely been bestowed on their uncovered heads in 

" Whence did he come? What is his purpose? Who 
can this old man be?" whispered the wondering crowd. 

Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand, 
was pursuing his solitary walk along the center of the 
street. As he drew near the advancing soldiers, and 
as the roll of their drum came full upon his ear, the 
old man raised himself to a loftier mien, while the 
decrepitude of age seemed to fall from his shoulders, 
leaving him in gray but unbroken dignity. Now, 
he marched onward with a warrior's step, keeping time 
to the military music. Thus the aged form advanced 
on one side, and the whole parade of soldier and mag- 
istrate on the other, till, when scarcely twenty yards 
remained between, the old man grasped his staff by 
the middle, and held it before him like a leader's 

" Stand!" cried he. 

The eye, the face, and the attitude of command, 
the solemn yet warlike peal of that voice, fit either to 
rule a host in the battlefield or to be raised to God in 
prayer, were irresistible. At the old man's word and 



* • 

outstretched arm, the roll of the drum was hushed at 
once, and the advancing line stood still. A tremulous 
enthusiasm seized upon the multitude. That stately 
form, combining the leader and the saint, so gray, so 
dinjly seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong 
to some old champion of the righteous cause whom 
the oppressor's drum had summoned from his grave. 
They raised a shout of awe and exultation, and looked 
for the deliverance of New England. 

The Governor and the gentlemen of his party, per- 
ceiving themselves brought to an unexpected stand, 
rode hastily forward, as if they would have pressed 
their snorting and affrighted horses right against the 
hoary apparition. He, however, blenched not a step, 
but, glancing his severe eye round the group, which 
half encompassed him, at last bent it sternly on Sir 
Edmund Andros. One would have thought that the 
dark old man was chief ruler there, and that the Gov- 
ernor and council, with their soldiers at their back, 
representing the whole power and authority of the 
Crown, had no alternative but obedience. 

"What does this fellow here?" cried Edward Ran- 
dolph, fiercely. "On, Sir Edmund! Bid the soldiers 
forward, and give the dotard the same choice that you 
give all his countrymen — to stand aside or be tram- 
pled on!" 

"Nay, nay, let us show respect for the good grand- 
sire," said Bullivant, laughing. "See you not, he is 
some old round-headed dignitary, who hath lain asleep 
these thirty years, and knows nothing of the change of 
times? Doubtless, he thinks to put us down with a 
proclamation in Old Noll's name!" 


"Are you mad, old man?" demanded Sir Edmund 
Andros, in loud and harsh tones. "How dare you stay 
the march of King James's Governor? " 

"I have stayed the march of a King himself, ere 
now," replied the gray figure, with stern composure. 
"I am here, Sir Governor, because the cry of an op- 
pressed people Hath disturbed me in my secret place; 
and beseeching this favor earnestly of the Lord, it 
was vouchsafed me to appear once again on earth, in 
the good old cause of his saints. And what speak ye 
of James? There is no longer a tyrant on the throne 
of England, and by to-morrow noon his name shall 
be a byword in this very street, where ye would make 
it a word of terror. Back, thou that wast a Governor, 
back! With this night thy power is ended — to- 
morrow, the prison! — back, lest I foretell the scaffold! " 

The people had been drawing nearer and nearer, 
and drinking in the words of their champion, who 
spoke in accents long disused, like one unaccustomed 
to converse, except with the dead of many years ago. 
But his voice stirred their souls. They confronted 
the soldiers, not wholly without arms, and ready to 
convert the very stones of the street into deadly 
weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked at the old man; 
then he cast his hard and cruel eye over the multitude, 
and beheld them burning with that lurid wrath so 
difficult to kindle or to quench; and again he fixed 
his gaze on the aged form, which stood obscurely in 
an open square, where neither friend nor foe had thrust 
himself. What were his thoughts, he uttered no word 
which might discover. But whether the oppressor 
were overawed by the Gray Champion's look, or per- 


ceived his peril in the threatening attitude of the 
people, it is certain that he gave back, and ordered 
his soldiers to commence a slow and guarded retreat. 
Before another sunset, the Governor, and all that 
rode so proudly with him, were prisoners, and long 
before it was known that James had abdicated, King 
William was proclaimed throughout New England. 

But where was the Gray Champion? Some reported 
that, when the troops had gone from King Street, and 
the people were thronging tumultuously in the rear, 
Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was seen to embrace 
a form more aged than his own. Others soberly af- 
firmed that, while they marveled at the venerable gran- 
deur of his aspect, the old man had faded from their 
eyes, melting slowly into the hues of twilight, till, where 
he stood, there was an empty space. But all agreed 
that the hoary shape was gone. The men of that gen- 
eration watched for his reappearance, in sunshine and 
in twilight, but never saw him more, nor knew when 
his funeral passed, nor where his gravestone was. 

And who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps his 
name might be found in the records of that stern 
Court of Justice, which passed a sentence, too mighty 
for the age, but glorious in all after-times for its hum- 
bling lesson to the monarch and its high example to 
the subject. I have heard, that, whenever the descend- 
ants of the Puritans are to show the spirit of their 
sires, the old man appears again. When eighty years 
had passed, he walked once more in King Street. 
Five years later, in the twilight of an April morning, 
he stood on the green, beside the meeting-house, at 
Lexington, where now the obelisk of granite, with a 


slab of slate inlaid, commemorates the first fallen of 
the Revolution. And when our fathers were toiling 
at the breastwork on Bunker's Hill, all through that 
night the old warrior walked his rounds. Long, long 
may it be ere he comes again! His hour is one of 
darkness, and adversity, and peril. But should do- 
mestic tyranny oppress us, or the invader's step pol- 
lute our soil, still may the Gray Champion come; for 
he is the type of New England's hereditary spirit, 
and his shadowy march, on the eve of danger, must 
ever be the pledge that New England's sons will vindi- 
cate tneiT ancestry. — Nathaniel Hawthorne 

(From " New England Tales") 



It has been impossible to decide with a certainty 
who designed the American Flag, but the best evidence 
gives part of the credit of planning and all the credit 
of making it to Mrs. John Ross, better known as Betsy 
Ross, who lived in Philadelphia. 

This flag had thirteen stripes, seven red and six 
white, and thirteen stars in a field of blue at the upper 
corner next to the staff. Congress adopted this as the 
national banner with the understanding that whenever 
a new state entered the Union a star should be added. 

The American Flag is the symbol of the brotherhood 
of man and the emblem of freedom and justice. Like 
the flag of every nation, it represents the nation's 
authority and right to rule. A mere piece of bunting 


it may be, but it speaks sublimely, and each part of it 
has its special significance. 

The stripes of alternate red and white proclaim the 
original union of the Thirteen Colonies for maintaining 
the Declaration of Independence. The white stars on 
the field of blue proclaim the union of - the several 
states, each state being represented by a star. Thus 
the stripes and stars together signify the Union, past 
and present, while the colors speak a language pecul- 
iarly their own. "White is for purity; red for valor; 
blue for justice; and all together — bunting, stars, 
stripes, colors — blazing in the sky, make the Flag of 
our country — to be cherished by all our hearts, to 
be upheld by all our hands." 


The Flag should £ot be hoisted before sunrise nor 
left flying after sunset. When being raised or lowered 
it should not be allowed to touch the ground. 

When the Flag is passing on parade or in review, or 
when it is being lowered and the Star-spangled Banner 
is being played, every one should halt if walking, and 
should rise if sitting, and stand at attention with head 
bare. The Flag at half-staff is a sign of mourning. 
In placing the Flag at half-staff it should first be hoisted 
to the top of the flag-staff, and then lowered into 
position; when it is to be lowered from half-staff it 
should first be raised to the top of the staff and then 
lowered. On Memorial Day the Flag should fly at 
half-staff until noon, and from noon until sunset at 
the top of the staff. 

To "dip the Flag," it is lowered, then quickly 


Betsy Ross sewing the first flag. 


hoisted to its original position. This is done as a 

To "strike the Flag," means submission or surrender. 

A white flag signifies a truce, and indicates to the 
enemy a desire for a conference or parley. 

A white flag with a red cross in the center is the 
sign of peace and protection. In times of war its 
use enables each side to go on the battlefield; without 
danger, to look after the slain and wounded. The 
"red cross flag" is the emblem of the Red Cross 
Society, which in times of war is organized for hospital 
or ambulance service, and in times of peace for reliev- 
ing the sufferings of the sick and oppressed, and also 
for giving aid and relief in times of great calamity. 

A yellow flag indicates that a ship flying it is in 
quarantine because of the presence aboard of con- 
tagious disease. 

The red flag is a sign of danger. It is used by 
vessels when loading ammunition or when carrying 
other deadly explosives. 


When Freedom, from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 


Then, from his mansion in the sun 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder drum of Heaven, — 
Child of the Sun! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle stroke, 
And bid its Mendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory! 

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly 
The sign of hope and triumph high! 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the lifeblood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, — 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And, as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And, when the cannon mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabers rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 


Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 
And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to Heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph, o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to Valor given! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! 

— Joseph Rodman Dsikk 



Hats off! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, 
A flash of color beneath the sky: 

Hats off! 
The flag is passing by. 

Blue and crimson and white it shines, 
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. 

Hats off! 
The colors before us fly; 
But more than the flag is passing by. 

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, 
Fought to make and to save the State: 
Weary marches and sinking ships; 
Chan of victory on dying flips; ' 

Days of plenty and years of peace; 
March of a strong land's swift increase; 
Equal justice, right, and law, 
Stately honor and reverend awe; 

Sign of a nation, great and strong 
To ward her people from foreign wrong; 
Pride and glory and honor, — all 
Live in the colors to stand or fall. 


Hats off! 
Along the street there comes 
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; 
And loyal hearts are beating high: 

Hats off! 
The flag is, passing by! 

— Henry Holcomb Bennett 


This morning, as I passed into the Land Office, 
The Flag dropped me a most cordial salutation, and 
from its rippling folds I heard it say: "Good morning, 
Mr. Flag-maker." 

"I beg your pardon, Old Glory," I said, " aren't 
you mistaken? I am not the President of the United 
States, nor a member of Congress, nor even a general 
in the army. I am only a government clerk." 

"I greet you again, Mr. Flag-maker," replied the 
gay voice, "I know you well. You are the man who 
worked in the swelter of yesterday straightening out 
the tangle of that farmer's homestead in Idaho, or 
perhaps you found the mistake in that Indian contract 
in Oklahoma, or helped to clear that patent for the 
hopeful inventor in New York, or pushed the opening 
of that new ditch in Colorado, or made that mine in 
Illinois more safe, or brought relief to the old soldier 
in Wyoming. No matter; whichever one of these 

1 Delivered on Flag Day, 1914, before the employees of the Depart- 
ment of the Interior, Washington, D. C, by Franklin K. Lane, Secretary 
of the Interior. 


beneficent individuals you may happen to be, I give 
you greeting, Mr. Flag-maker/' 

I was about to pass on, when The Flag stopped me 
with these words : 

" Yesterday the President spoke a word that made 
happier the future of ten million peons in Mexico; 
but that act looms no larger on the flag than the 
struggle which the boy in Georgia is making to win 
the Corn Club prize this summer. 

"Yesterday the Congress spoke a word which will 
J open the door of Alaska; but a mother in Michigan 
worked from sunrise until far into the night, to give 
her boy an education. She, too, is making the flag. 

" Yesterday we made a new law to prevent financial 
panics, and yesterday, maybe, a school teacher in 
Ohio taught his first letters to a boy who will one day 
write a song that will give cheer to the millions of our 
race. We are all making the flag. ,, 

"But," I said impatiently, "these people were only 
working !" 

Then came a great shout from The Flag: 

"The work that we do is the making of the flag. 

"I am not the flag; not at all. I am but its shadow. 

"I am whatever you make me, nothing more. 

"I am your belief in yourself, your dream of what 
a People may become. 

"I live a changing life, a life of moods and passions, 
of heart-breaks and tired muscles. 

"Sometimes I am strong with pride, when men do 
an honest work, fitting the rails together truly. 

"Sometimes I droop, for then purpose has gone from 
me, and cynically I play the coward. 


" Sometimes I am loud, garish, and full of that ego 
that blasts judgment. 

"But always, I am all that you hope to be, and have 
the courage to try for. 

"I am song and fear, struggle and panic, and en- 
nobling hope. 

"I am the day's work of the weakest man, arid the 
largest dream of the most daring. 

"I am the Constitution and the courts, statutes 
and the statute makers, soldier and dreadnaught, 
drayman and street sweep, cook, counselor, and clerk. 

"I am the battle of yesterday, and the mistake of 

"I am the mystery of the men who do without 
knowing why. 

"I am the clutch of an idea, and the reasoned pur- 
pose of resolution. 

"I am no more than what you believe me to be and 
I am all that you believe I can be. 

"I am what you make me, nothing more. 

"I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, 
a symbol of yourself, the pictured suggestion of that 
big thing which makes this nation. My stars and my 
stripes are your dream and your labors. They are 
bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with 
faith, because you have made them so out of your 
hearts. For you are the makers of the flag and it is 
well that you glory in the making." 

— Franklin K. Lane 



1. "I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the Re- 
public for which it stands, — one nation, indivisible, 
with liberty and justice for all." 

At the words "to my flag," extend the right hand, 
palm upward, toward the flag, and hold it there until - 
the pledge is given; then lower it to the side. 

2. "I give my head and my heart to God and my 
Country, r— one Country, one Language, one Flag." 

Extend the right arm and point toward the flag. 
Bring the tips of the fingers to the forehead, saying, 
"I give my head" — place the hand over the heart, 
saying, "And my heart" — point and look upward, 
saying, ' ' To God ' ' — drop the hand to the side. When 
saving "One Flag" point to the flag. 

The following salute is sometimes given by foreigners: 

3. "Flag of our great republic, inspirer of battle, 
guardian of our homes, whose stars and stripes stand 
for bravery, purity, truth, and union, we salute thee! 
We, the natives of distant lands, who find rest under 
thy folds, do pledge our hearts, our lives, and our 
sacred honor to love and protect thee, our country, 
and the liberty of the American people forever." 



say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the 

perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave, proof through the night that our flag was still 

there ; 
say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream. 
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their lov'd homes and the war's desolation! 
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved *is a 
nation ! 


Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto — "In God is our trust!" 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave . 
O *er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

— Francis Scott Key 


Our flag means, then, all that our fathers meant in 
the Revolutionary War; it means all that the Decla- 
ration of Independence meant; it means all that the 
Constitution of our people organizing for justice, for 
liberty, and for happiness meant. Our flag carries 
American ideas, American history, and American 
feelings. Beginning with the colonies and coming 
down to our time, in its sacred heraldry, in its glorious 
insignia, it has gathered and stored chiefly this supreme 
idea : Divine right of liberty in man. 

Every color means liberty, every thread means 
liberty, every form of star and beam of light means 
liberty. Not lawlessness, not license, but organized 
institutional liberty — liberty through law, and laws 
for liberty. 

Accept it then, in all its fullness of meaning. It is 
not a painted rag. It is a whole national history. 
It is the Constitution. It is the Government. It is 
the emblem of the sovereignty of the people. It is 
the nation. 

— Henry Ward Beecher 




Christopher Columbus, the discoverer of America, was 
born in Genoa, Italy, in 1435 or 1436. When only a 
young lad he went to sea. Later he married an Italian 
girl whose father taught him how to make maps and how 
to use them. While studying these he conceived the idea 
that there might be land to the westward. 

He laid his scheme of discovery before the king t)f 
Portugal but he met with ridicule. Leaving Portugal 
he started for Spain. On his way he stopped at a convent 
to get food. The Superior of the convent became much 
interested in his plans, and through her he obtained an 
audience with Isabella, the queen. 

After much delay Ferdinand, the king, agreed to furnish 
him with three small ships, named Santa Maria, Pinta, and 
Nina. So with one hundred and twenty men, on Friday, 
August 3, 1492, Christopher Columbus sailed westward. 

Many discouragements attended the voyage. The men 
became disheartened, and begged to return to their homes, 
but, on September 18, birds were seen, indicating that land 
was near; a few days later a log and a branch covered with 
flowers were found floating in the water. 

Soon land was sighted and on October 12, 1492, Columbus 
planted the flag of Spain on an island, which he named 
San Salvador. 



Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind, the Gates of Hercules; 
Before him not the ghost of shores, 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said: "Now must we pray, 

For lo! the very stars are gone. 
Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?" 

"Why say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" 

"My men grow mutinous day by day; 

My men grow ghastly wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 

Of salt wave dashed his swarthy cheek. 
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" 
"Why you shall say, at break of day: 

'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 

Until at last the blanched mate said: 
"Why, now not even God would know 

Should I and all my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way, 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Admiral; speak and say — " 

He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!" 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: 
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; 

He curls his lips, he lies in wait, 
With lifted teeth, as if to bite! 


Brave Admiral, say but one good word; 

What shall we do when hope is gone ? " 
The words leapt as a leaping sword; 

"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" 

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, 

And peered through darkness* Ah, that night 
Of all dark nights! And then a speck — 

A light! A light! A light! A light! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world; he gave that world 

Its grainiest lesson: "On! sail on!" 

— Joaquin Miller 


"Tis a wonderful story," I hear you say, 

"How he struggled and worked and plead and prayed, 

And faced every danger undismayed, 

With a will that would neither break nor bend, 

And discovered a new world in the end — 

But what does it teach to a boy of to-day? 

All the worlds are discovered, you know, of course, 

All the rivers are traced to their utmost source : 

There is nothing left for a boy to find, 

If he had ever so much a mind 

To become a discoverer famous; 
And if we'd much rather read a book 
About some one else, and the risks he took, 

Why nobody, surely, can blame us." 


Columbus before Queen Isabella. 


So you think all the worlds are discovered now; 
All the lands have been charted and sailed about, 
Their mountains climbed, their secrets found out; 
All the seas have been sailed, and their currents 

known — 
To the uttermost isles the winds have blown, 
They have carried a venturing prow? 
Yet there lie all about us new worlds, everywhere, 
That await their -discoverer's footfall; spread fair 
Are electrical worlds that no eye has yet seen, 
And mechanical worlds that lie hidden serene 

And await their Columbus securely. 
There are new worlds in Science and new worlds in Art, 
And the boy who will work with his head and his heart 

Will discover his new world surely. 

— Anonymous 


On July 4, 1776, representatives of the colonies, assembled 
at Philadelphia, voted that the United Colonies should be 
free and independent states, that they owed no allegiance 
to the British Crown, and that all political connection 
between them should be dissolved. 

The announcement was hailed with the greatest en- 

" Ring! ring!" shouted the lad stationed- below to give 
the signal to the old bellman in the Statehouse tower; 
and he did ring until the whole city shouted for joy. 

Pictures of the king were burned on the streets, bonfires 
were lighted, the city illuminated, and the exaltation was 
prolonged far into the night. 


In New York, a lead statue of King George was melted 
and molded into bullets, and in all great cities similar dem- 
onstrations of enthusiasm were exhibited. Washington had 
the Declaration read at the head of every brigade of the. 
army, and the soldiers pledged fealty to the cause of 

As soon as the Declaration could be printed, it went 
forth, not only as a defiant answer of the colonies to the 
demands of the mother country, but as a claini for the 
political freedom of mankind. 


When it was certain that the Declaration of American 
Independence would be adopted by the Congress, then in 
session in Philadelphia, July 4, 1776, it was determined to 
announce the event by ringing the old Statehouse Bell, 
which bore the inscription, "Proclaim liberty throughout 
the land, to all the inhabitants thereof." The old bellman 
posted his little grandson at the door of the hall, to await 
the instruction of the doorkeeper when to ring. At the word 
the young patriot rushed out, and, clapping his hands, 
shouted, "Ring! Ring! Ring!" 

There was a tumult in the city, 

In the quaint old Quaker town, 
And the streets were rife with people 

Pacing restless up and down, — 
People gathering at the corners, 

Where they whispered each to each, 
And the sweat stood on their temples 

With the earnestness of speech. 


As the bleak Atlantic currents 

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore; 
So they beat against the Statehouse, 

So they surged against the door; 
And the mingling of their voices 

Made a harmony profound, 
Till the quiet street of Chestnut 

Was all turbulent with sound. 

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" 

"Who is speaking?" "What's the news?" 
"What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?" 
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!" 
"Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!" 

"I am stifling!" "Stifle, then! 
When a nation's life's at hazard, 
' We've no time to think of men!" 

So they beat against the portal, 

Man and woman, maid and child; 
And the July sun in heaven 

On the scene looked down and smiled; 
The same sun that saw the Spartan 

Shed his patriot blood in vain, 
Now beheld the soul of freedom, 

All unconquered, rise again. 

See! See! The dense crowd quivers 

Through all its lengthy line, 
As the boy beside the portal 

Looks forth to give the sign! 


With his little hands uplifted, 

Breezes dallying with his hair, 
Hark! with deep, clear intonation, 

Breaks his young voice on the air. 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur, 

List the boy's exultant cry! 
"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! grandpa, 

Ring! oh, ring for LIBERTY!" 
Quickly at the given signal 

The old bellman lifts his hand, 
Forth he sends the good news, making 

Iron music through the land. 

How they, shouted! What rejoicing! 

How the old bell shook the air, 
Till the clang of freedom ruffled 

The calmly gliding Delaware! 
How the bonfires and the torches 

Lighted up the night's repose, 
And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, 

Our glorious Liberty arose! 

That old Statehouse bell is silent; 

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue; 
But the spirit it awakened 

Still is living — ever young; 

And when we greet the smiling sunlight 

On the Fourth of each July, 
We will ne'er forget the bellman 

Who, betwixt the earth and sky, 
Rang out, loudly, "INDEPENDENCE, » 

Which, please God, shall never die! 





When in the course of human events, it becomes 
necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands 
which have connected them with another, and to 
assume among the powers of the earth, the separate 
and equal station to which the laws of nature and of 
nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the 
opinions of mankind requires that they should declare 
the causes, which impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men 
are created equal, that they are endowed by their 
Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among 
these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 
That to secure these rights, governments are instituted 
among men, deriving their just powers from the coir- 
sent of the governed, that whenever any form of 
government becomes destructive of these ends, it is 
the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and 
to institute a new government, laying its foundation on 
such principles and organizing its powers in such form, 
as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety 
and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that 
governments long established should not -be changed 
for light and transient causes; and accordingly all 
experience hath shown, that mankind are more dis- 
posed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to 
right themselves by abolishing the forms to which 


they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses 
and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object 
evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despo- 
tism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such 
government, and to provide new guards for their 
future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance 
of these colonies; and such is now the necessity which 
cbnstrains them to alter their former systems of 
government. The history, of the present King of 
Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and 
usurpations, all having, in direct object, the establish- 
ment of an absolute tyranny over these states. To 
prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. 

He has refused his assent to laws, the most whole- 
some and necessary for the public good, 
r He has forbidden his Governors to pass laws of 
immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended 
in their operation till his assent should be obtained; 
and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to 
attend to them. 

He has refused to pass other laws for the accom- 
modation of large districts of people, unless those 
people would relinquish the right of representation in 
the legislature, a right inestimable to them and for- 
midable to tyrants only. 

He has called together legislative bodies at places 
unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the deposi- 
tory of their public records, for the sole purpose of 
fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. 

He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly, 
for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the 
rights of the people. 


He has refused for a long time, after such disso- 
lutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the 
legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have 
returned to the people at large for their exercise; 
the State remaining in the meantime exposed to all 
the dangers of invasion from without, and convul- 
sions within. 

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of 
these States; for that purpose obstructing the laws for 
naturalization of foreigners; refusing to pass others 
to encourage their migration hither, and raising the 
conditions of new appropriations of lands. 

He has obstructed the administration of justice, by 
refusing his assent to laws for establishing judiciary 

He has made judges dependent on his will alone, 
for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and 
payment of their salaries. 

He has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent 
hither swarms of officers to harass our people, and 
eat out their substance. 

He has kept among us, in times of peace, standing 
armies without the consent of our legislature. 

He has affected to render the military independent 
of and superior to the civil power. 

He has combined with others to subject us to a 
jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowl- 
edged by our laws; giving his assent to their acts of 
pretended legislation: 

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among 

For protecting them, by a mock trial, from punish- 


ment for any murders which they should commit on 
the inhabitants of these states: 

For cutting off our trade with all parts of the world : 

For imposing taxes on us without our consent : 

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of 
trial by jury: 

For transporting us beyond seas to be tried for 
pretended offences : 

For abolishing the free system of English laws in 
a neighbouring province, establishing therein an arbi- 
trary government, and enlarging its boundaries so 
as to render it at once an example and fit instrument 
for introducing the same absolute rule into these 
colonies : 

For taking away our charters, abolishing our most 
valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the forms 
of our governments: 

For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring 
themselves invested with power to legislate for us in 
all cases whatsoever. 

He has abdicated government here, by declaring 
us out of his protection and waging war against us. 

He has plundered our seatf, ravaged our coasts, 
burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. 

He is at this time transporting large armies of 
foreign mercenaries to complete the works of death, 
desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circum- 
stances of cruelty and perfidy scarcely paralleled in 
the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the 
head of a civilized nation. 

He has constrained our fellow citizens, taken cap- 
tive on the high seas, to bear arms against their coun- 


try, to become the executioners of their friends and 
brethren, or to fall themselves by their hands. 

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, 
and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our 
frontiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose known 
rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of 
all ages, sexes, and conditions. 

In every stage of these oppressions we have pe- 
titioned for redress in the most humble terms; our 
repeated petitions have been answered only by re- 
peated injury. A prince, whose character is thus 
marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is 
unfit to be the ruler of a free people. 

Nor have we been wanting in attention to our 
Brit^h brethren. We have warned them from time 
to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an 
unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have re- 
minded them of the circumstances of our emigration 
and settlement here. We have appealed to their 
native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured 
them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow 
these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt 
our connections and correspondence. They, too, have 
been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. 
We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which 
denounces our separation, and hold them, as we hold 
the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace, friends. 

We, therefore, the representatives of the United 
States of America, in General Congress assembled, 
appealing to the Supreme Judge of the World for the 
rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by 
the authority of the good people of these colonies, 


solemnly publish and declare, That these United 
Colonies are, arid of right ought to be Free and In- 
dependent States; -that they are absolved from all 
allegiance to the British crown, and that all political 
connection between them and the state of Great 
Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and 
that as Free and Independent States, they have full 
power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, 
establish commerce, and to do all other acts and 
things which Independent States may of right do. 
And for the support of this declaration, with a firm 
reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we 
mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, 
and our sacred honor. 


It has been the custom of several countries of the Old 
World to decorate the graves of soldiers; but in no country 
is it made a day of national observance as it is now known 
in the north and south of the United States. 

In various parts of the country on different days it became 
the custom to carry flowers to the graves of the soldiers who 
had lost their lives in battle. The practice gradually be- 
came more general. In some instances Governors of states 
recommended a day for its observance. The pulpit and press 
urged that the same day in all parts of the country be made 
a legal holiday in honor of the country's fallen soldiers. 

At length at the recommendation of President Grant, 
Congress decided upon May 30 as a legal holiday, now known 
and recognized as Memorial Day in nearly every state of 
the Union. 


This day has been given to the dead, but its lessons 
are intended for the living. It has been the occasion 
for a generous manifestation on the part of the people 
of their gratitude to the men who saved the country 
in war. But its true intent will have been lost if it 
has failed to inspire in all our hearts a deeper sentiment 
of patriotism and a stronger attachment to those 
great ideas for which these men gave their lives. It 
is an impressive fact to contemplate that to-day 
millions of our fellow citizens from every part of the 
country have abandoned all thoughts of business and 
turned their footsteps to the places where sleep our 
heroic dead, that they may with loving hands and 
grateful hearts pay tender tribute to their virtues and 
their valor. This consecration day is a popular 
demonstration of affection for the patriotic dead, 
and bears unmistakable evidence that patriotism in 
the United States has not declined or abated. 

— William McKinlbt 


I am oppressed with a sense of the impropriety of 
uttering words on this occasion. If silence is ever 
golden, it must be here beside the graves of fifteen 
thousand men, whose lives were more significant than 
speech, and whose death was a poem, the music of 
which can never be sung. With words we make 
promises, plight faith, praise virtue. Promises may 
not be kept; plighted faith may be broken; and 
vaunted virtue be only the cunning mask of vice. 
We do not know one promise these men made, one 


pledge they gave, one word they spoke; but we do 
know they summed up and perfected, by one supreme 
act, the highest virtues of men and citizens. For love 
of country they accepted death, and thus resolved all 
doubts, and made immortal their patriotism and their 
virtue. For the noblest man that lives there still 
remains a conflict. He must still withstand the 
assaults of time and fortune, must still be assailed with 
temptations, before which lofty natures have fallen; but 
with these the conflict ended, the victory was won, when 
death stamped on them' the great seal of heroic charac- 
ter, and closed a record which years can never blot. 

— James A. Garfield 


By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of grave-grass quiver, 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Under the one, the Blue; 

Under the other, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Under the roses, the Blue; 

Under the lilies, the Gray. 


So, when the summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 

The cooling drip of the rain. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Wet with the rain, the Blue; 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Love and tears for the Blue, 

Tears and love for the Gray. 

— Francis M. Finch 



She is a rich and rare land; 
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land,- 
She's a dear and rare land — 
This native land of mine. 

No men than hers are braver — 
Her women's hearts ne'er waver; 
I'd freely die to save her, 
And think my lot divine. 


She's not a dull or cold land; 
No! she's a warm and bold land; 
Oh! she's a true and old land — 
This native land of mine. 

Could beauty ever guard her, 
And virtue still reward her, 
No foe would cross her border — 
No friend within it pine. 

Oh! she's a fresh and fair land, 
Oh! she's true and rare land! 
Yes, she's a rare and fair land — 
This native land of mine. 

— Thomas Osborne Davis 


Paul Revere was a rider bold — 
Well has his valorous deed been told ; 
Sheridan's ride was a glorious one — 
Often it has been dwelt upon ; 
But why should men do all the deeds 
On which the love of a patriot feeds? 
Hearken to me, while I reveal 
The dashing ride of Jennie M'Neal. 

On a spot as pretty as might be found 

In the dangerous length of the Neutral Ground, 

In a cottage, cozy, and all their own, 

She and her mother lived alone. 

Safe were the two, with their frugal store, 


From all of the many who passed their door; 

For Jennie's mother was strange to fears, 

And Jennie was large for fifteen years; 

With vim her eyes were glistening, 

Her hair was the hue of a blackbird's wing; 

And while the friends who knew her well 

The sweetness of her heart could tell, 

A gun that hung on the kitchen wall 

Looked solemnly quick to heed her call; 

And they who were evil-minded knew 

Her nerve was strong and her aim was true. 

So all kind words and acts did deal 

To generous, black-eyed Jennie M'Neal. 

One night, when the sun had crept to bed, 
And rain-clouds lingered overhead, 
And sent their surly drops for proof 
To drum a tune on the cottage roof, 
Close after a knock at the outer door 
There entered a dozen dragoons or more. 
Their red coats, stained by the muddy road, 
That they were British soldiers showed; 
The captain his hostess bent to greet, 
Saying, " Madam, please give us a bit to eat; 
We will pay you well, and, if may be, 
This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea; 
Then we must dash ten miles ahead, 
To catch a rebel colonel abed. 
He is visiting home, as doth appear; 
We will make his pleasure cost him dear." 
And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal, 
Close-watched the while by Jennie M'Neal. 



For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near, 
Had been her true friend, kind and dear; 
And oft, in her younger days, had he 
Right proudly perched her upon his knee, 
And told her stories many a one 
Concerning the French war lately done. 
And oft together the two friends were, 
And many the arts he had taught to her; 
She had hunted by his fatherly side, 
He had shown her how to fence and ride; 
And once had said, "The time may be, 
Your skill and courage may stand by me." 
So sorrow for him she could but feel, 
Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

With never a thought or a moment more, 
Bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door, 
Ran out where the horses were left to feed, 
Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed, 
And down the hilly and rock-strewn way 
She urged the fiery horse of gray. 
Around her slender and cloakless form 
Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm; 
Secure and tight a gloveless hand 
Grasped the reins with stern command; 
And full and black her long hair streamed, 
Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. 
And on she rushed for the colonel's weal, 
Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

Hark ! from the hills, a moment mute, 
Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit; 


And a cry from the foremost trooper said, 
"Halt! or your blood be on your head! " 
She heeded it not, and not in vain 
She lashed the horse with the bridle-rein. 
So into the night the gray horse strode; 
His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road; 
And the high-born courage that never dies 
Flashed from his rider's coal-black eyes. 
The pebbles flew from the fearful race; 
The rain-drops grasped at her glowing face. 
"On, on, brave beast!" with loud appeal, 
Cried eager, resolute Jennie M'Neal. 

"Halt!" once more came the voice of dread; 

"Halt! or your blood be on your head!" 

Then, no one answering to the calls, 

Sped after her a volley of balls. 

They passed her in her rapid flight, 

They screamed to her left, they screamed to her right; 

She sent no token of answer back, 

Except a silvery laughter-peal, 

Brave, merry-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

So on she rushed, at her own good will, 
Through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill; 
The gray horse did his duty well, 
Till all at once he stumbled and fell, 
Himself escaping the nets of harm, 
But flinging the girl with a broken arm. 

Still undismayed by the numbing pain, 
She clung to the horse's bridle-rein, 





"So on she rushed, at her own good will." 


And gently bidding him to stand, 
Petted him with her able hand; 
Then sprang again to the saddle-bow, 
And shouted, "One more trial now!" 
As if ashamed of the heedless fall, 
He gathered his strength once more for all, 
And, galloping down a hill-side steep, 
Gained on the troopers at every leap; 
No more the high-bred steed did reel, 
But ran his best for Jennie M'Neal. 

They were a furlong behind, or more, 
When the girl burst through the colonel's door, 
Her poor arm helpless hanging with pain, 
And she all drabbled and drenched with rain, 
But her cheeks as red as firebrands are, 
And her eyes as bright as a blazing star, 
And shouted, "Quick! be quick, I say! 
They come ! they come ! Away ! away ! " 
Then sunk on the rude white floor of deal, 
Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie M'Neal. 

The startled colonel sprung, and pressed 
The wife and children to his breast, 
And turned away from his fireside bright, 
And glided into the stormy night; 
Then soon and safely made his way 
To where the patriot army lay. 
But first he bent in the dim firelight, 
And kissed the forehead broad and white, 
And blessed the girl who had ridden so well 
To keep him out of a prison-cell*. 

THE RISING IN 1776 113 

The girl roused up at the martial din, 
Just as the troopers came rushing in, 
And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan, 
Saying, "Good sirs, your bird has flown. 
'Tis I who have scared him from his nest; 
So deal with me now as you think best." 
But the grand young captain bowed, and said, 
"Never you hold a moment's dread. 

Of womankind I must crown you queen; 

So brave" a girl I have never seen. 

Wear this gold ring as your valor's due; 

And when peace comes I will come for you." 

But Jennie's face an arch smile wore, 

As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps, 

Who told me the same, long time ago ; 

You two would never agree, I know. 

I promised my love to be true as steel," 

Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

— Will Carleton 


Out of the North the wild news came, 
Far flashing on its wings of flame, 
Swift as the boreal light which flies 
At midnight through the startled skies. 

And there was tumult in the air, 

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, 
And through the wide land everywhere 

The answering tread of hurrying feet; 


While the first oath of Freedom's gun 
Came on the blast from Lexington; 
And Concord roused, no longer tame, 
Forgot her old baptismal name, 
Made bare her patriot's arm of power, 
And swelled the discord of the hour. 

Within its shade of elm and oak 

The church of Berkeley Manor stood; 
There Sunday found the rural folk, 

And some esteemed of gentle blood. 
In vain their feet, with loitering tread, 

Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught; 

All could not read the lesson taught 
In that republic of the dead. 

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, 
The vale with peace and sunshine full, 

Where all the happy people walk, 

Decked in their homespun flax and wool ! 

Where youths' gay hats with blossoms bloom, 
And every maid, with simple art, 
Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 

A bud whose depths are all perfume; 

While every garment's gentle stir 

Is breathing rose and lavender. 

• •••••••••• 

The pastor came : his snowy locks 

Hallowed his brow of thought and care; 

And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, 
He led into the house of prayer. 

THE RISING IN 1776 115 

Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; 
The psalm was warrior David's song; 
The text, a few short words of might ; 
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right !" 

He spoke of wrongs too long endured, 

Of sacred rights to be secured ; 

Then from his patriot tongue of flame 

The startling words for Freedom came. 

The stirring sentences he spake 

Compelled the heart to glow or quake, 

And, rising on his theme's broad wing, 

And grasping in his nervous hand 

The imaginary battle brand, 
In face of death he dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant king. 

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
In eloquence of attitude, 
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; 
Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
From startled pew to breathless choir; 
When suddenly his mantle wide 
His hands impatient flung aside, 
And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes 
Complete in all a warrior's guise. 

A moment there was awful pause — 
When Berkeley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease; 
God's temple is the house of peace!" 
The other shouted, "Nay! not so, 

When God is with our righteous cause ; 


His holiest places then are ours, 
His temples are our forts and towers 
That frown upon the tyrant foe; 
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, 
There is a time to fight and pray!" 

And now before the open door — 

The warrior priest had ordered so — 
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar 
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, 

Its long reverberating blow, 
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear 
Of dusty death must wake and hear. 
And there the startling drum and fife 
Fired the living with fiercer life; 
While overhead, with wild increase, 
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 

The great bell swung as ne'er before. 
It seemed as it would never cease; 
And every word its ardor flung 
From off its jubilant iron tongue 

Was "War! War! War!" 

"Who dares" — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came, — 
"Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 

For her to live, for her to die?" 

A hundred hands flung up reply, 

A hundred voices answered, "I!" 

— Thomas Buchanan Read 



Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend: "If the British march 
By land or sea from the town tonight, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
Of the North Church tower, as a signal-light, — 
One if by land, and two if by sea; 
And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country-folk to be up and to arm. ,, 

Then he said "good night/ 9 and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war: 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon, like a prison-bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 


The muster of men at the barrack-door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed to the tower of the church, 
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall, 
Where he paused to listen and look down 
A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still, 
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent, 
And seeming to whisper, "All is well! ,, 
A moment only he feels the spell 
Of the place and the hour, the secret dread 
Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
On a shadowy something far away, 
Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 
A line of black, that bends and floats 
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 


Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then impetuous stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still. 
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height, 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 

And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 

The fate of a nation was riding that night; 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; 
And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 
Is heard the tramp of the steed as he rides. 


It was twelve by the village-clock 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock, 

And the barking of the farmer's dog, 

And felt the damp of the river-fog 

That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village-clock 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw* the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village-clock 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock, 

And the twitter of birds among the trees, 

And felt the breath of the morning-breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead, 

Pierced by a British musket-ball. 


You know the rest. In the books you have read 
How the British regulars fired and fled — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall, 


Chasing the redcoats down the lane, 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 

A cry of defiance, and not of fear, — 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 

And a word that shall echo forevermore! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 

Through all our history, to the last, 

In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 

The people will waken and listen to hear 

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 

And the midnight-message of Paul Revere. 

— Henry W. Longfellow 



Our band is few but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 


We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear 
When, waking to their tents on fire, 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp . of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil: 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout, 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
The band that Marion leads — 



The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain; 
'Tis life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts the tossitig mane. 
A moment in the British camp — . 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band, 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

Forever from our shore. 

— William Cullen Bryant 


Mollie Pitcher was born at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. She 
won distinction at Fort Clinton by discharging the last gun 
at the British. She also distinguished herself at the battle of 
Monmouth (June, 1778). As she was carrying water to her 

w.. l 

Il- . 






"Mollie Pitcher, you saved the day." 


husband, a cannoneer, from a near-by well a shot killed him 
instantly. She took his place at the gun, and saved it from 
falling into the hands of the enemy. Washington made her 
a sergeant for her bravery, and placed her name on the list 
of half-pay officers for life. A monument to her memory is 
on the Monmouth battlefield, and there is also one at 

'Twas hurry and scurry at Monmouth town 
For Lee was beating a wild retreat ; 

The British were riding the Yankees down, 
And panic was pressing on flying feet. 

Galloping down like a hurricane 

Washington rode with his sword swung high, 
Mighty as he of the Trojan plain 

Fired by a courage from the sky. 

"Halt and stand to your guns!" he cried. 

And a bombardier made swift reply. 
Wheeling his cannon into the tide; 

He fell 'neath the shot of a foeman nigh. 

Mollie Pitcher sprang to his side, 

Fired as she saw her husband do, 
Telling the king in his stubborn pride 

Women like men to their homes are true. 


Washington rode from the bloody fray 
Up to the gun that a woman manned. 

" Mollie Pitcher, you saved the day," 
He said, as he gave her a hero's hand. 


"MoUie Pitcher, you saved the day." 


He named her sergeant with manly praise, 
While her war-brown face was wet with tears — 

A woman has ever a woman's ways, 
And the Army was wild with cheers. 

— Kate Brownlee Sherwood 


During the war of 1812 a sea fight occurred between the 
United States ship, Constitution, and the English man-of- 
war, Guerriere. Within half an hour the Guerriere was 
destroyed and the United States ship had won a splendid 
victory. Because of this and other victories the people 
called the Constitution "Old Ironsides." After many years 
of service she was pronounced unsound and it was decided 
that she should be destroyed. Oliver Wendell Holmes 
opposed this plan and wrote the poem, "Old Ironsides," 
which was copied in newspapers throughout the country. 
By means of this appeal the ship was saved and was after- 
ward used as a training ship for naval cadets. 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 
And burst the cannon's roar; — 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 
Where knelt the vanquished foe, 


When winds were hurrying o'er ihe flood, . 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee; . 
The halpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea! 

O better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And" there should be her grave; 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes 


Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as the garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, 


Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down; 


In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced; the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt!" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
"Fire!" — out blazed the rifle blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 


She leaned far out on the windowsill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

"•Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came; 

The nobler nature within him stirred - 
To life at that woman's deed and word: 

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet: 

All day long that free flag tossed 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 


Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town! 

— John Greenleaf WmrnEB 


Loaded with gallant soldiers, 

A boat shot unto the land, 
And lay at the right of Rodman's Point, 

With her keel upon the sand. 

Lightly, gayly, they came ashore, 

And never a man afraid, 
When sudden the enemy opened fire, 

From his deadly ambuscade. 

Each man fell flat on the bottom 
Of the boat; and the Captain said: 

"If we lie here, we all are captured, 
And the first who moves is dead!" 

Then out spoke a negro sailor, 

No slavish soul had he; 
"Somebody's got to die, boys, 

And it might as well be me." 


Firmly he rose, and fearlessly- 
Stepped out into the tide; 

He pushed the vessel safely off, 
Then fell across her side: 

Fell, pierced by a dozen btdlets, 

As the boat swung clear and free; — 

But there wasn't a man of them that day 
Who was fitter to die than he. 

— Phoebe Caky 


As it began to dawn, you know, 

Just at the peep of day, 
Ere yet the sun was fully up 

Above Manila Bay, — . 

We crept into their port, my boy, 
Their crews were sound asleep; 

Crept close upon their forts and ships, 
Glassed in the quiet deep. 

But when the Spanish sluggards woke, 

Upspringing with the sun, 
They sent across the shining wave 

A booming, harmless gun. 

No answer first, — we but swept on; 

Then lo ! a flash of flame, 
A sound of thunder, — ha, my boy, 

And thus began our game ! 


How roared the cannon, sang the bombs, 

And whistled shell and shot; 
How crashed their splintered masts and spars 

As all the air grew hot ! 

How worked our tars, — a hero each, — 

Their sooty breasts swelled high, 
Remembering that on us was fixed 

Our country's grateful eye! 

And that while through black clouds of smoke 

The sun gleamed fiery red, 
There flew, with every star undimmed. 

Old Glory overhead! 

And through it all God's hand, my boy, 

In this fierce fight was plain ; 
Not one brave lad of ours fell dead, 
/ As we avenged the Maine ! 

But scores of Spanish, — and they, too, 

Had done their duty well, — 
May God have mercy on their souls, 

Be they in heaven or hell! 

Their ships we captured, sunk or burned; 

And live a thousand years, 
I'll thank the Lord I, too, was there, — 

Hear still our ringing cheers! 

Hail to our noble Commodore, 

For deeds so glorious done, 
Praise to a greater Captain still, 

For such a victory won. 

— Stuart Sterne 





Francis Scott Key was born in Maryland in 1779 and 
died in 1843. During the war of 1812 between the United 
States and Great Britain the English fleet bombarded Fort 
McHenry near Baltimore on September 13, 1814. During 
the whole of that day and night he witnessed the British 
bombardment of the fort; and on the following morning he 
and his American friends saw with delight that the fort 
was still ours, and that the American flag, torn with shot 
and shell, was still waving in its place. The story is told 
in the poem. 

The Star-spangled Banner is played by bands in the navy 
and at military posts; foreign countries regard it as the 
nation's anthem; and citizens of- the United States reverently 
stand whenever it is heard. 
For words of this Hymn, see p. 88. 


Samuel Francis Smith, a young Harvard graduate, 
was one day looking over some foreign music books when 
the English national hymn, "God Save the King," caught 
his attention. After humming the air a few times he took 
his pen and wrote the inspiring words of "America," little 
thinking that the verses would ever attain popularity. 

.Mr. Smith, in writing about it later, said, "If I had antici- 
pated the future of the song doubtless I would have taken 
more pains with it. Such as it is, I am glad to have con- 
tributed this much to the cause of American freedom." 


My country! 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing; 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrims' pride; 
From every mountain side, 

Let freedom ring. 

My native country! thee, 
Land of the noble free, 

Thy name I love: 
I love thy rocks, and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills, 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze, 
And ring from all the trees, 

Sweet freedom's song; 
Let mortal tongues awake, 
Let all that breathe partake, 
Let rocks their silence break, 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers' God, to thee, 
Author of Liberty! 

To thee we sing; 
Long may our land be bright, 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by thy might, 

Great God, our King! 

— S. F. Smith 



Julia Ward Howe, the composer of the Battle Hymn, 
was a resident of Washington during the Civil War. One 
day she, with a party of friends, had been out to see a review 
of the soldiers. 

As they listened to the band playing "John Brown's 
Body" onp of the party said to her, "Mrs. Howe, why don't 
you write a hymn which the Boys in Blue can sing to that 

Mrs. Howe replied that she had often wished she could, 
and the matter was dropped. The next morning she awak- 
ened in the gray dawn, and began to think about the hymn. 
One line after another began to come to her until she had 
the entire song in mind. She rose hastily and in dim 
twilight she wrote it out, letting her pencil shape the words 
she did not even try to see. Thus, as it were by inspiration, 
were written the stirring words of our splendid Battle Hymn. 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible 

swift sword: 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling 

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps; 
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps. 

His day is marching on. 



I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of 

steel : 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my 

grace shall deal; 
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush ,the serpent with 

his heel, 

Since God is marching on." 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 

retreat ; 
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment 

Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, 

my feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men 


While God is marching on. 

— Julia Ward Howe 


In 1798, Joseph Hopkinson wrote "Hail, Columbia" in 
Philadelphia for an actor named Fox. 

This young singer and actor called upon Mr. Hopkinson 
one morning and said, "To-morrow evening is appointed 
for my benefit at the theater. Not a single box has been 
taken, and I fear there will be a thin house. If you will 


write me some patriotic verses to the tune of the President's 
March, I feel sure there will be a large audience. Several 
people have attempted it, but they have come to the con- 
clusion it cannot be done, yet I think you may succeed." 

Mr. Hopkinson retired to his study and in a short time 
wrote the first stanza and chorus. The entire song was 
soon finished and that evening the young actor received it. 

The next morning the theater placards announced that 
Mr. Fox would sing a new patriotic song. The house was 
crowded and the song was sung to a delighted audience. 
Eight times it was called for and repeated, and when sung 
the ninth time, the whole audience stood up and joined in 
the chorus. 

Hail, Columbia ! happy land ! 
Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 
Let Independence be your boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost ; 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altar reach the skies. 


Firm, united, let us be, 
Rallying round our Liberty; 
As a band of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots! rise once more: 
Defend your rights, defend your shore : 


Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. 
While offering peace, sincere and just, 
In Heaven we place a manly trust, 
That truth and justice will prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage fail. — Cho. 

Sound, sound the trump of fame ! 

Let WASHINGTON'S great name 

Ring thro' the world with loud applause, 

Ring thro' the world with loud applause; 

Let every clime to Freedom dear 

Listen with a joyful ear. 

With equal skill, and godlike pow'r, 

He governs in the fearful hour 

Of horrid war, or guides with ease 

The happier time of honest peace. — Cho. 

Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands! 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
But armed in virtue, firm, and true, 
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
When glooms obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolved on death or Liberty. — Cho. 

— Joseph Hopkinson 



The honor of the production of this song must be divided 
between two men. In 1843 in the city of Philadelphia, 
David T. Shaw, a singer, wrote some patriotic lines which 
he took to Thomas & Becket, asking him to set them to 
music. Mr. Becket revised the lines and composed the 
melody of this song, which is known sometimes as "The 
Red, White, and Blue," and familiarly called, "The Army 
and Navy Song." 


O Columbia, the gem of the ocean, 

The home of the brave and the free, 
The shrine of each patriot's devotion, 

A world offers homage to thee. 
Thy mandates make heroes assemble, 

When Liberty's form stands in view, 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the Red, White, and Blue. 
When borne by the Red, White and Blue, 

When borne by the Red, White and Blue, 
Thy banners make tyranny tremble, 

When borne by the Red, White and Blue. 

When war winged its wide desolation, 

And threatened the land to deform, 
The ark then of Freedom's foundation, 

Columbia, rode safe through the storm, 
With the garlands of victory around her, 

When so proudly she bore her brave crew, 


With her flag proudly floating before her, 
The boast of the Red, White, and Blue. 

The boast of the Red, White, and Blue, 
The boast of the Red, White, and Blue, 

With her flag proudly floating before her, 
The boast of the Red, White, and Blue. 

The star-spangled banner bring hither, 

O'er Columbia's true sons let it wave; 
May the wreaths they have won never wither, 

Nor its stars cease to shine on the brave. 
May the service united ne'er sever, 

But hold to their colors so true! 
The Army and Navy forever, 

Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 
Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue ! 

Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 
The Army and Navy forever, 

Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue! 

— David Shaw 


It is a curious fact that "Dixie," the famous marching 
song of the southern armies and now one of the most popular 
songs of our country, was composed by a northern man 
before the Civil War. It had no reference to war and was 
written for the minstrel show of which Dan Emmett was a 

In winter, the warm sunny South was a popular route 
with circus and show people; those who were obliged to 
remain in the North after the arrival of cold weather would 


often say, "I wish I were in Dixie." The phrase became a 
current expression and so the composer placed it in his song. 

I wish I was in de land ob cotton, 

Old times dar am not forgotten, 
Look away ! Look away ! Look away ! Dixie Land. 
In Dixie Land whar I was born in, 

Early on one frosty morning 
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land. 


Den I wish I was in Dixie, 

Hooray ! Hooray ! 
In Dixie Land I '11 take my stand 
To lib and die in Dixie, 

Away, away, 
Away down south in Dixie, 

Away, away, 
Away down south in Dixie. 

— Daniel D. Emmbtt 


This hymn was sung in Boston at the Peace Jubilee by 
a chorus of ten thousand voices. The effect was magnifi- 
cent. Since that time this song has been recognized as one 
of the best of our national hymns. 

Speed our Republic, Father on high; 

Lead us in pathways of justice and right; 
Rulers as well as the ruled, "One and all," 

Girdle with virtue, the armor of might! 
Hail, three times hail, to our country and flag ! 


Foremost in battle for Freedom to stand, 
We rush to arms when aroused by its call; 

Still, as of yore, when George Washington led, 
Thunders our war-cry, "We conquer or fall!" 

Hail, three times hail, to our country and flag! 

Faithful and honest to friend and to foe, — 

Willing to die in humanity's cause, — 
Thus we defy all tyrannical power, 

While we contend for our Union and laws. 
Hail, three times hail, to our country and flag! 

Rise up, proud eagle, rise up to the clouds; 

Spread thy broad wings o'er this fair western world ; 
Fling from thy beak our dear banner of old, — 

Show that it still is for Freedom unfurled ! 
Hail, three times hail, to our country and flag! 

(Repeat last three lines as chorus.) 

— Matthias KktjiEB 





April 2, 1917 

Gentlemen of the Congress: 

I have called the Congress into extraordinary 
session because there are serious, very serious, choices 


of policy to be made and made immediately, which 
it was neither right nor constitutionally permissible 
that I should assume the responsibility of making. 

On the third of February last I officially laid before 
you the extraordinary announcement of the Imperial 
German Government that on and after the first day 
of February it was its purpose to put aside all restraints 
of law or of humanity and use its submarines to sink 
every vessel that sought to approach either the ports 
of Great Britain and Ireland, or the western coasts of 
Europe, or any of the ports controlled by the enemies 
of Germany within the Mediterranean. That had 
seemed to be the object of the German submarine 
warfare earlier in the war, but since April of last 
year the Imperial Government had somewhat re- 
strained the commanders of its undersea craft in 
conformity with its promise then given to us that 
passenger boats should not be sunk and that due 
warning would be given to all other vessels which its 
submarines might seek to destroy when no resistance 
was offered or escape attempted, and care taken that 
their crews were given at least a fair chance to save 
their lives in their open boats. The precautions taken 
were meager and haphazard enough, as was proved in 
distressing instance after instance in the progress of 
the cruel and unmanly business, but a certain degree 
of restraint was observed. The new policy has swept 
every restriction aside. Vessels of every kind, what- 
ever their flag, their character, their cargo, their 
destination, their errand, have been ruthlessly sent 
to the bottom without warning and without thought 
of help or mercy for those on board, the vessels of 


friendly neutrals along with those of belligerents. in 
Even hospital ships and ships carrying relief to the I in 
sorely bereaved and stricken people of Belgium, ft 
though the latter were provided with safe conduct !T 
through the prescribed areas by the German Govern- n 
ment itself and were distinguished by unmistakable 
marks of identity, have been sunk with the same reck- b 
less lack of compassion or of principle. i 

I was for a little while unable to believe that such ] 
things would in fact be done by any government that 
had hitherto subscribed to the humane practices of 
civilized nations. International law had its origin 
in the attempt to set up some law which would be 
respected and observed upon the seas where no nation 
had right of dominion and where lay the free highways 
of the world. By painful stage after stage has that 
law been built up, with meager enough results indeed, 
after all was accomplished that could be accomplished, 
but always with a clear view, at least, of what the 
heart and conscience of mankind demanded. This 
minimum of right the German Government has swept 
aside under the plea of retaliation and necessity and 
because it had no weapons which it could use at sea 
except those which it is impossible to employ as it is 
employing them without throwing to the winds all 
scruples of humanity or of respect for the under- 
standings that were supposed to underlie the inter- 
course of the world. I am not now thinking of the 
loss of property involved, immense and serious as that 
is, but only of the wanton and wholesale destruction 
of the lives of noncombatants, men, women, and 
children, engaged in pursuits which have always, even 


in the darkest periods of modern history, begn deemed 
innocent and legitimate. Property can be paid for; 
the lives of peaceful and innocent people cannot be. 
The present German submarine warfare against com- 
merce is a warfare against mankind. 

It is a war against all nations. American ships 
have been sunk, American lives taken, in ways which 
it has stirred us very deeply to learn of, but ships and 
people of other neutral and friendly nations have 
been sunk and overwhelmed in the waters in the same 
way. There has been no discrimination. The chal- 
lenge is to all mankind. Each nation must decide 
for itself how it will meet it. The choice we make for 
ourselves must be made with a moderation of counsel 
and a temperateness of judgment befitting our char- 
acter and our motives as a nation. We must put 
excited feeling away. Our motive will not be revenge 
or the victorious assertion of the physical might of 
the nation, but only the vindication of right, of human 
right, of which we are only a single champion. 

When I addressed the Congress on the twenty- 
sixth of February last I thought that it would suffice 
to assert our neutral rights with arms, our right to use 
the seas against unlawful interference, our right to 
keep our people safe against unlawful violence. But 
armed neutrality, it now appears, is impracticable. 
Because submarines are in effect outlaws when used 
as the German submarines have been used against mer- 
chant shipping, it is impossible to defend ships against 
their attacks as the law of nations has assumed that mer- 
chantmen would defend themselves against privateers 
or cruisers, visible craft giving chase upon the open sea. 


* It is coipmon prudence, in such circumstances, grim 
necessity indeed, to endeavor to destroy them before 
they have shown their own intention. They must be 
dealt with upon sight, if dealt with at all. The German 
Government denies the right of neutrals to use arms at 
all within the areas of the sea which it has proscribed, 
even in the defence of rights which no modern publicist 
has ever before questioned their right to defend. 

The intimation is conveyed that the armed guards 
which we have placed on ovi merchant ships will be 
treated as beyond the pale of law and subject to be 
dealt with as pirates would be. 

Armed neutrality is ineffectual enough at best; 
in such circumstances and in the face of such preten- 
sions it is worse than ineffectual; it is likely only to 
produce what it was meant to prevent; it is practically 
certain to draw us into the war without either the 
rights or the effectiveness of belligerents. There is oi\e 
choice we cannot make, we are incapable of making. 
We will not choose the path of submission and suffer 
the most sacred rights of our nation and our people 
to be ignored or violated. The wrongs against which 
we now array ourselves are no common wrongs; 
they cut to the very roots of human life. 

With a profound sense of the solemn and even 
tragical character of the step I am taking and of the 
grave responsibilities which it involves, but in unhesi- 
tating obedience to what I deem my constitutional 
duty, I advise that the Congress declare the recent 
course of the Imperial German Government to be in 
fact nothing less than war against the government and 
people of the United States; that it formally accept 


the status of belligerent which has thus been thrust 
upon it; and that it take immediate steps not only 
to put the country in a more thorough state of defence, 
but also to exert all its power and employ all its re- 
sources to bring the government of the German empire 
to terms and end the war. 

What this will involve is clear. It will involve the 
utmost practicable co-operation in counsel and action 
with the governments now at war with Germany, 
and, as incident to that, the extension to those govern- 
ments of the most liberal financial credits in order 
that our resources may, so far as possible, be added to 
theirs. It will involve the organization and mobili- 
zation of all the material resources of the country to 
supply the materials of war and serve the incidental 
needs of the nation in the most abundant, and yet 
the most economical and efficient way possible. 

It will involve the immediate full equipment of the 
navy in all respects, but particularly in supplying it 
with the best means of dealing with the enemy's 
submarines. It will involve the immediate addition 
to the armed forces of the United States already 
provided for by law in case of war, at least 500,000 
men, who should, in my opinion, be chosen upon the 
principle of universal liability to service, and also the 
authorization of subsequent additional increments of 
equal force so soon as they may be needed and can be 
handled in training. 

It will involve, also, of course, the granting of ade- 
quate credits to the Government, sustained, I hope, 
so far as they can equitably be sustained by the present 
generation, by well conceived taxation. I say sus- 


tained so far as may be equitable by taxation because 
it seems to me that it would be most unwise to base 
the credits which will now be necessary entirely on 
money borrowed. It is our duty, I most respectfully 
urge, to protect our people so far as we may against 
the very serious hardships and evils which would 
be likely to arise out of the infliction which would be 
produced by vast loans. 

, In carrying out the measures by which these things 
are to be accomplished, we should keep constantly in 
mind the wisdom of interfering as little as possible in 
our own preparation and in the equipment of our own 
military forces with the duty — for it will be a very 
practical duty — of supplying the nations already at 
war with Germany with the materials which they can 
obtain only from us or by our assistance. They are 
in the field and we should help them in every way to 
be effective there. 

I shall take the liberty of suggesting, through the 
several executive departments of the Government for 
the consideration of your committees, measures for 
the accomplishment of the several objects I have men- 
tioned. I hope that it will be your pleasure to deal 
with them as having been framed after very careful 
thought by the branch of the government upon 
which the responsibility of conducting the war and 
safeguarding the nation will most directly fall. 

While we do these things, these deeply momentous 
things, let us be very clear and make very clear to all 
the world what our motives and our objects are. My 
own thought has not been driven from its habitual 
and normal course by the unhappy events of the last 


two months, and I do not believe that the thought of 
the nation has been altered or clouded by them. 

I have # exactly the same things in mind now that I 
had in mind when I addressed the Senate on the 
22d of January last ; the same that I had in mind when 
I addressed the Congress on the 3d of February and 
on the 26th of February. Our object now, as then, 
is to vindicate the principles of peace and justice in the 
life of the world as against selfish and autocratic 
power, and to set up amongst the really free and 
self-governed peoples of the world such a concert of 
purpose and of action as will henceforth insure the 
observance of those principles. 

Neutrality is no longer feasible or desirable where 
the peace of the world is involved and the freedom of 
its peoples, and the menace to that peace and freedom 
lies in the existence of autocratic governments backed 
by organized force which is controlled wholly by their 
will, not by the will of their people. We have seen the 
last of neutrality in such circumstances. 

We are at the beginning of an age in which it will be 
insisted that the same standards of conduct and of 
responsibility for wrong done shall be observed among 
nations and their governments that are observed 
among the individual citizens of civilized states. 

We have no quarrel with the German people. We 
have no feeling towards them but one of sympathy and 
friendship. It was not upon their impulse that their 
Government acted in entering this war. It was not 
with their previous knowledge or approval. 

It was a war determined upon as wars used to be 
determined upon in the old, unhappy days when 


peoples were nowhere consulted by their rulers and 
wars were provoked and waged in the interests of 
dynasties or of little groups of ambitious men who were 
accustomed to use their fellow men as pawns and tools. 

Self-governed nations do not fill their neighbor 
states with spies or set the course of intrigue to bring 
about some critical posture of affairs which will give 
them an opportunity to strike and make conquest. 
Such designs can be successfully worked out only under 
cover and where no one has the right to ask questions. 

Cunningly contrived plans of deception or aggres- 
sion, carried, it may be, from generation to generation, 
can be worked out and kept from the light only within 
the privacy of courts or behind the carefully guarded 
confidences of a narrow and privileged class. They 
are happily impossible where public opinion com- 
mands and insists upon full information concerning 
all the nation's affairs. 

A steadfast concert for peace can never be main- 
tained except by a partnership of democratic nations. 
No autocratic government could be trusted to keep 
faith within it or observe its covenants. 

It must be a league of honor, a partnership of opinion. 
Intrigue would eat its vitals away; the plottings of 
inner circles who could plan what they would and 
render account to no one would be a corruption seated 
at its very heart. Only free peoples can hold their 
purpose and their honor steady to a common end and 
prefer the interests of mankind to any narrow interest 
of their own. 

One of the things that has served to convince us 


that the Prussian autocracy was not and could never 
be our friend is that from the very outset of the present 
war it has filled our unsuspecting communities, and 
even our offices of government, with spies and set 
criminal intrigues everywhere afoot against our na- 
tional unity of counsel, our peace within and without, 
our industries and our commerce. 

Indeed, it is now evident that its spies were here 
even before the war began; and it is unhappily not 
a matter of conjecture but a fact proved in our courts 
of justice that the intrigues which have more than 
once come perilously near to disturbing the peace and 
dislocating the industries of the country have been 
carried on at the instigation, with the support, and 
even under the personal direction of official agents of 
the Imperial Government accredited to the Govern- 
ment of the. United States. 

Even in checking these things and trying to extir- 
pate them we have sought to put the most generous 
interpretation possible upon them, because we knew 
that their source lay, not in any hostile feeling or 
purpose of the German people towards us (who were, 
no doubt, as ignorant of them as we ourselves were), 
but only in the selfish designs of a Government that 
did what it pleased and told its people nothing. But 
they have played their part in serving to convince us 
at last that that Government entertains no real friend- 
ship for us and means to act against our peace and 
security at its convenience. That it means to stir 
up enemies against us at our very doors the intercepted 
note to the German Minister at Mexico City is elo- 
quent evidence. 


We are accepting this challenge of hostile purpose 
because we know that in such a government, following 
such methods, we can never have a friend; and that 
in the presence of its organized power, always lying 
in wait to accomplish we know not what purpose, 
there can be no assured security for the democratic 
governments of the world. 

We are now about to accept gage of battle with 
this natural foe to liberty and shall, if necessary, 
spend the whole force of the nation to check and 
nullify its pretensions and its power. We are glad, 
now that we see the facts with no veil of false pretence 
about them, to fight thus for the ultimate peace of 
the world and for the liberation of its peoples, the 
German peoples included; for the rights of nations, 
great and small, and the privilege of men everywhere 
to choose their way of life and of obedience. The 
world must be made safe for democracy; its peace 
must be planted upon tested foundations of political 

We have no selfish ends to serve. We desire no 
conquest, no dominion. We seek no indemnities for 
ourselves, no material compensation for the sacrifices 
we shall freely make. We are but one of the champions 
of the rights of mankind. We shall be satisfied when 
those rights have been made as secure as the faith 
and the freedom of the nations can make them. 

Just because we fight without rancor and without 
selfish object, seeking nothing for ourselves but what* 
we shall wish to share with all free peoples, we shall, 
I feel confident, conduct our operations as belligerents 
without passion and ourselves observe with proud 


punctilio the principles of right and of fair play we 

profess to be fighting for. 

• •••••••• 

It will be all the easier for us to conduct ourselves 
as belligerents in a high spirit of right and fairness 
because we act without animus, not in enmity towards 
a people or with the desire to bring any injury or dis- 
advantage upon them, but only in armed opposition 
to an irresponsible Government which has thrown 
aside all considerations of humanity and of right and 
is running amuck. 

We are, let me say again, the sincere friends of the 
German people, and shall desire nothing so much as 
the early reestablishment of intimate relations of 
mutual advantage between us, however hard it may 
be for them, for the time being, to believe that this is 
spoken from our hearts. We have borne with their 
present government through all these bitter months 
because of that friendship — exercising a patience and 
forbearance which would otherwise have been im- 
possible. We shall, happily, still have an opportunity 
to prove that friendship in our daily attitude and 
actions toward the millions of men and women of 
German birth and native sympathy who live amongst 
us and share our life, and we shall be proud to prove 
it towards all who are in fact loyal to their neighbors 
and to the Government in the hour of test. They are, 
most of them, as true and loyal Americans as if they 
had never known any other fealty or allegiance. 
They will be prompt to stand with us in rebuking 
and restraining the few who may be of a different 
mind and purpose. 


If there should be disloyalty, it will be dealt with 
with a firm hand of stern repression; but, if it lifts 
its head at all, it will lift it only here and there and 
without countenance except from a lawless and malig- 
nant few. 

It is a distressing and oppressive duty, gentlemen 
of the Congress, which I have performed in thus 
addressing you. There are, it may be, many months 
of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It is a fearful 
thing to lead this great peaceful people into war, into 
the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization 
itself seeming to be in the balance. But the right is 
more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the 
things which we have always carried nearest our 
hearts — for democracy, for the right of those who 
submit to authority to have a voice in their own govern- 
ments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for 
a universal dominion of .right by such a concert of 
free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all 
nations and make the world itself at last free. 

To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our 
fortunes, everything that we are and everything that 
we have, with the pride of those who know that the 
day has come when America is privileged to spend her 
blood and her might for the principles that gave her 
birth and happiness and the peace which she has 
treasured. God helping her, she can do no other. 



God of our fathers, known of old, 

Lord of our far-flung battle-line, 
Beneath whose awful hand we hold 

Dominion over palm and pine — 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

The tumult and the shouting dies; 

The captains and the kings depart; 
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, 

An humble and a contrite heart. 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

Far-called, our navies melt away; 

On dune and headland sinks the fire. 
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 

In reeking tube and iron shard, 
All valiant dust that builds on dust, 

And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, 
For frantic boast and foolish word — 
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! 

— Rudyard Kipling 



I should like the entrance into the United States 
to be a poem to all who come, and not the horrible 
tragedy into which it often resolves itself when the 
first ecstasy is over. All the way across the sea I 
would make of every ship a school, with such fair 
comforts as men are entitled to, for their money. 

I should like to teach them that they may ^nter 
without fear and without uttering a lie, so that those 
at the gate might know that these new comers are 
human, and treat them as such, so long as they con- 
duct themselves properly. 

I should like to teach the strangers that there is a 
fair reward for hard struggle and an honest living wage 
for an honest day's work. That they must guard 
their health by abstinence from intoxicating drink, 
and I should like to prohibit its sale on board of ship 
and everywhere else. For to the immigrants, the 
ignorant immigrants, alcohol is a lying curse. They 
believe that it strengthens and that no hard labor can 
be done without it. I should like to tell them also 
that their health will be guarded in mines and fac- 
tories and that their bodies and souls have value to 
man and to God. 

I should like to point to the Goddess of Liberty and 
say that she welcomes all who come in her name, that 
she guarantees freedom to all who obey law, that our 
law is always reasonable and that, if it is a burden, 
it falls upon the shoulders of rich and poor alike. 


I should like to tell them that they have nothing 
to fear in this country except their own frailties, that 
there are no barriers here but their own clannishness 
and that the way to the best is open to all who walk 
reverently. This and more I should like to be able 
to teach; fragments of it I have taught, more of it 
than many of them will find true, I fear. But to me 
so* much of it has been true that I should like to have 
all men find it so. 

I have suffered much here, I have gone the whole 
scale of hunger, sorrow and despair; yet, I say it 
again and again, Holy America! Holy America! And 
I want all men to be able to say it, as they said it 
with me under the lee of the land where free men live. 

— Edward A. Steiner 


America triumphant! 

Brave land of pioneers! 
On mountain peak and prairie 

Their winding trail appears. 
The wilderness is planted; 

The deserts bloom and sing; 
On coast and plain the cities 

Their smoky' banners fling. 

• •••••• 

America triumphant! 
Dear homeland of the free! 
Thy sons have fought and fallen, 
To win release for thee. 


They broke the chains of empire; 

They smote the wrongs of state ; 
And lies of law and custom 

They blasted with their hate. 

America triumphant! 

Grasp firm thy sword and shield! 
Not yet have all thy foemen 

Been driven from the field. 
They lurk by forge and market, 

They hide in mine and mill; 
And bold with greed of conquest, 

They flout thy blessed will. 

America, America! 

Triumphant thou shalt be! 
Thy hills and vales shall echo 

The shouts of liberty. 
Thy bards shall sing thy glory, 

Thy prophets tell thy praise, 
And all thy sons and daughters 

Acclaim thy golden days. 

— John Hatoes Houibb 

sion of the author. 



There 's a magical tie to the land of our home, 
Which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps 

may roam; 
Be that land where it may, at the Line or the Pole, 
It still holds the magnet that draws back the soul. 
'Tis loved by the freeman, 'tis loved by the slave; 
'Tis dear to the coward, more dear to the brave! 
Ask of any the spot they like best on earth, 
And they'll answer with pride, "The land of my 


— Eliza Cook 


God give us men. The time demands 

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and willing hands; 

Men whom the lust of office does not kill; 
Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; 

Men who possess opinions and a will; 
Men who have honor; men who will not lie; 

Men who can stand before a demagogue 
And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking; 

Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog 
In public duty and in private thinking! 

— J. G. Holland 


Ho be slab of life because it gibe* 
pou ti)t cfjance to lobe anb to toorfe 
anb to plap anb to look up at tf)e *tat*; 
to be contenteb toit& pout possessions;, 
but not iattefieb toitf) poutielf until 
pou fjabe mabe tfre bt&t of t&em; to 
htipiit nothing in tf)e tootlb except 
fateefjoob anb meanne**, anb to feat 
nothing except cotoatbice; to be gob- 
etneb bj> pout abmitation* ratfter tfjan 
bp pout bi*gu*t*; to cobet nothing 
tfrat in pout neighbor's;, except bis; 
feinbness of fceatt anb gentleness of 
manners;; to tfjinfe ielbom of pout 
enemies;, often of pout frtenbs;, anb 
ebetp bap of Cfcttet; anb to *penb 
as; mncb time as; pou can, toitf) bobp 
anb toitf) spirit, in (Sob's; out -of -boot* 
— tf)e*e ate little guibe-poit* on tf)e 
foot = part) to peace. 

— Henry van Dyke